Making Amends
by clinicduty
Summary: Post Season 8 - On the day of the funeral for James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy receives a sealed letter from him that tells her where to find Greg House. The letter makes no requests but leaves her with a choice to make: Seek out her former lover and the man who broke her heart or continue to move on with her life.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first foray into writing House M.D. fan fiction, so feedback is definitely welcome.

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**Chapter 1**

It was a cold, gray day. The light mist falling was periodically morphed into tiny stings when swirling wind gusts grabbed and whipped the moisture against exposed skin.

Dr. Lisa Cuddy, former Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, barely noticed though. Her umbrella shielded her from most of the precipitation and what got through was inconsequential compared to the tears leave burning trails down her cheeks.

The service concluded, most of the mourners had already drifted away, heading to their cars and leaving Cuddy alone at the graveside. Her eyes were on the headstone, reading and re-reading the name chiseled into the dark gray marble as if it might somehow change if she just kept looking.

_James Evan Wilson  
__1968-2012_

Life was wholly unfair, fate an absolute bastard. That an oncologist should die of cancer...

Wilson had been, in her opinion, what all physicians should strive to be - concerned, compassionate, and caring towards their patients. Those qualities are what prompted her to name him head of the oncology department at her former hospital.

Of course, it was pure irony that Wilson had been recommended to her by a mutual friend and colleague, Dr. Gregory House, a physician who exhibited anything but those qualities to patients.

Cuddy shivered as she thought of House, the tall, blue-eyed, sharp-tongued genius whom she'd first met in college then hired to create a world-class diagnostics department for the hospital. She would blame the physical reaction on the weather if she could, but that would be a lie. Thoughts of House always provoked some sort of physical response in her, and now was no different, even as she stood by the grave of his best friend.

House and Wilson. Wilson and House. Wherever one had been, the other had been also. They had been quite the pair, often times the equivalent of frat boys or little boys in the bodies of grown men. Both had been her friends and both had injected her well-ordered, well-planned life with a chaotic mixture of happiness, laughter, frustration, anger, and sorrow during her years with them at Princeton-Plainsboro. Some of it had been professional. Some of it deeply personal. But not a moment of it had been boring.

Cuddy missed those days and at the moment, felt the absence of that special camaraderie that had endured and spawned many a prank, heated arguments, and honest heart-to-heart discussions. She wished so many things had turned out differently. She wished that cancer was a curable disease, that past events could be altered saving them all from the landslide of grief and sorrow that began a year and a half ago. Without a doubt, she would make different choices if she could do it all over again, especially in regards to House.

Memories of her former lover drew more tears from Cuddy. She had never known a more infuriating man. Egotistical, narcissistic, crass, crude, lewd, manipulative ... he had been all those things during the years she'd spent in his company. But he'd also been more.

If Cuddy was honest with herself, she'd loved the self-labeled misanthrope from the moment she'd met him on the University of Michigan campus. She hadn't known it was love then. She hadn't known it was love during those early years at Princeton-Plainsboro. That realization had come much later, a gradual and unexpected dawning that love had been with her all along, growing and expanding, taking root in a place she'd never really thought to consciously look.

Their verbal sparring had been legendary in the hospital halls. She'd kept him in check and he'd challenged her at almost every turn. But all that ... _all that_ had been a dance, a prelude to a love affair that had burned bright and hot, and yet been underscored by a sweet but mature tenderness no one would have expected from the social menace that was Houses.

But Cuddy knew. She'd known his kisses, his touches, the sound of his breath, and beat of his heart. She'd known what it was like to be enraged by him one moment and left longing for him in the next. She'd seen him vulnerable, loving, and caring. Even now, memories of him in those moments took her breath away and made her already aching heart ache all the more.

God how she wished things could be different, for Wilson, for House, and for herself. She felt alone and not a little bit lost. It was strange living in a world without him in it. It just didn't seem—

"Dr. Cuddy?"

The gentle uttering of her name drew Cuddy from her thoughts and her gaze to the young black man approaching on her right. Eric Foreman. He had been a young and promising neurologist when he joined the Princeton-Plainsboro diagnostics department. Since her departure from the hospital, though, he'd moved into administration and now held her former position as Dean of Medicine.

She gave him a wan smile as he nodded to her. His normally stoic expression bore signs of his grief. She wasn't surprised. Everyone had loved and respected Wilson.

"Dr. Forman," she greeted as he came to a halt beside her. She looked down when he held out an envelope. It was cream in color and had her name written on the front. She recognized Wilson's handwriting.

"Dr. Wilson asked that I give this to you today," Forman said softly.

Cuddy took the envelope from him, her smile dissipating and her heart clenching within her breast at knowing that it likely held the final words she'd ever hear from her friend.

"Thank you," she replied.

Beside her, Forman shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We are going into town for drinks," he began, "You're welcome to join us."

Her smile returning, at least in part, Cuddy looked up at her former employee and shook her head. Although she appreciated the invitation, grief had always been a private thing for her and she just wasn't up to socializing with so much weighing on her heart.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I...," she trailed off not sure what else to say. Forman seemed to understand, though, his dark eyes acknowledging what went unspoken.

With a tilt of his head, he murmured, "Dr. Cuddy," then eased away to join Drs. Chase and Cameron, and several others who'd been a part of the diagnostics department over the years. Cameron alone looked back and gave her a small wave before they loaded up into several cars and headed out.

Cuddy sighed then looked back at Wilson's headstone before flitting her gaze over at the coffin that contained his body. A lump forming in her throat, she whispered a soft "goodbye" and made her way to her car, clutching the envelope to her breast, both eager and fearful of what it contained.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

About thirty miles away from the Scranton synagogue where the main funeral services for James Wilson had been held sat a small motel. It was right on the highway and had a small diner at one end. It was an old New England establishment but obviously well maintained if the exterior painting and landscaping were indicative of anything.

Cuddy made note of those things as she pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine of her car. She wasn't sure why she'd cataloged the information. It wasn't of any consequence other than a distraction from the other thoughts bouncing around in her brain.

After getting into her car at the cemetery, she had cranked it up, turned on the heater and then opened up Wilson's letter and read. The contents hadn't been a surprise really. She'd expected the words that greeted her tear-filled eyes, especially those at the end.

_"He has helped me in ways that I would have never thought he could or would, but seeing me die day by day has taken a heavy toll. Lisa, I have no right to make any request of you regarding him and I won't. What I will say is that he is going to need a friend now, probably more than he ever has before. And whether you let yourself believe it or not, you might just need one, too."_

Simple, direct, to the point. Even in his dying moments and from beyond the grave, James Wilson continued to advocate for House, a man the rest of the world believed dead. Even she had believed it for a few days, the news of his demise shattering something inside her that she'd thought already broken beyond repair.

But then Wilson had come to see her after House's funeral and she remembered the disbelief, elation and amusement she'd felt when Wilson had informed her that the magnificent bastard was alive.

Initially she'd hated herself for being so happy. She wasn't supposed to be overjoyed that the man who drove his car into her home in a stunning burst of violence was still alive and well, and had faked his death. She wasn't supposed to be happy because the man bringing her the news also brought the news of his own terminal diagnosis.

But learning the reason House had done it had morphed Cuddy's self-hate into resigned affection for the man who induced it. It was an emotion she had only ever felt in connection to House.

It was just like him to do something so insane and shocking and then turn around do something kind and selfless, but in a way that no one would know but the receiver of the gift.

What he'd given Wilson, of time and adventure, of something beyond IVs, needles, tubes, and medical treatments in his final days...

Cuddy couldn't help but love him for that, despite everything.

After spending a year angry with him, in the last four months she'd come to terms with the fact she would always love House, no matter what he did. She could be angry with him, hate him sometimes, but the love was a constant. She couldn't shut it off. She couldn't distract herself from it, couldn't even push it into the background long enough to begin any sort of new relationship. He had, she decided, utterly ruined her for any other man.

Cuddy wasn't sure if it that love was that had her sitting in her car parked just outside Room 18 of the Revere Inn. Or if it was the obligation she felt because of Wilson's letter. Or if, it was because Wilson was right about her need for a friend.

It might be one of things, none of them, or a combination of them all. But, if House had kept his word to Wilson, then he was just on the other side of that blue door.

Staring at the burnished bronze room numbers above the peep hole, Cuddy gripped the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles whitened as her heart raced, spurred on by anxiety and doubt. She didn't know if she could go in.

She reasoned that just having driven to the motel might be enough to assuage any present and future guilt. She considered possibly parking somewhere else on the lot, away from the door and watch for him to come out, to see how he looked before speeding away, back to Baltimore where her job and daughter waited.

A surge of irritation coursed through her when she thought about the fact she owed House nothing. Not after what he'd done. But the irritation died away just as quickly as it had come - as it often did.

Try as she might, she could not boil down and distill the full measure of the man in a single act. She'd done that to him already when he took a single Vicodin to give him what he needed to be there for her with her own cancer scare. And that distillation had been the catalyst for his rapid descent into a whirlwind of self-destruction.

She'd broken his heart and he'd then heaped pain upon pain upon pain on himself. It had been his choice to do so, she did not kid herself about that. But she knew him and a part of her had known he would take the path of self-loathing and yet she'd done little to stop it. She'd only offered to salvage their friendship without addressing his deeper pain, or her own.

And that was the guilt she carried in it all.

She had passed judgment on his single-pill relapse after nearly two years of sobriety and shut him out. She'd ignored that he had come to her bedside, albeit late and with a opiate in his system, but he had come and she'd given him absolutely no credit for the effort in the end. She had essentially done nothing to help either of them.

Even Cuddy's own mother, Arlene, who wasn't a House fan by any stretch of the imagination, had scolded her on her impossible-to-meet standards. She had seen the unfairness in Cuddy's actions and tried to help her face it and get her to work with House to fix it. Arlene had just wanted her to see what House saw - that there was something worth saving and fighting for. That _they_ were worth it.

But Cuddy hadn't done it and not a man of half-measures, House had instead definitively severed their relationship, amputating himself from her. He'd done it by destroying her house ... and _her_ House.

With an inarticulate groan, Cuddy leaned forward and rested her forehead against the backs of her hands, which still held tight to the steering wheel.

She felt ill as she recalled that morning after the crane collapse, the loss of their patient, and her declaration of love, when he'd pleaded with her to turn off her phone, declaring "we're more important than what was going on at the hospital."

"Give the morning to us," he'd said, putting things into a perspective that wasn't skewed by his usual juvenile aversion to work but the one of a mature man with his priorities straight.

Cuddy knew that was the man she'd hurt. Not the jerk he put on display for the world but the wounded man beneath the facade. That man lived with all manner of pain day-in and day-out, struggled with addiction to dull those pains, and who so desperately wanted to love and be worthy of love while simultaneously fearing opening himself up to it.

Raising her gaze once again to the door, Cuddy knew what she would find on the other side of it. Even if there was booze or Vicodin, hell, even a female "companion" to distract or alleviate the pain, there would still be an overwhelming pit of agony. There was no way House was functioning after watching his best friend die. No one would be, but especially not House who wore his pain like a scarlet letter. In truth, Cuddy knew that she was probably the only person who would comprehend the level of his grief, and that she was the only person left on the planet who truly understood him, was intimately familiar with all his faults and loved him anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy realized that she could not just walk away.

House was a goddamned black hole in so many ways, but he was also a light, and that part of him drew her to him, like a flame attracts the moth. Unlike the moth though, Cuddy was keenly aware of the possibility of being burned.

Cuddy felt that pull to him now, strongly, despite every pill taken, every cross word or crass insult uttered, and even the car he'd driven into her home. Despite all of it. _Which_, she mused bittersweetly, _leaves me just as stuck as I've always been where House is concerned, unable to move forward unless I'm within his orbit._

"Dammit," Cuddy sighed heavily as she pulled her keys from the ignition and prepared to exit the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Shivers that had nothing to do with the weather coursed through Cuddy's body as she lightly rapped her knuckles on the motel room door. She could barely breathe as she began to second guess the decision she'd made in the car. A big part of her silently hoped House was out or wouldn't answer, but there was no such reprieve.

The door opened and she looked up at the man who'd been the source of her greatest pains and happiness and...

She slapped the hell out of him.

It was purely reflex. She hadn't intended to do it, hadn't thought about doing it, at least not recently, but she'd just done it and now she was gasping in a breath to replace the one she'd apparently been holding.

He said nothing, he did nothing. He just stood there, those blue eyes of his devastatingly … empty.

"Oh God," she breathed as she _really _looked at him. There was no vibrancy to his gaze. There was no surprise at her presence. There was no shock or anger at her actions. The irises were simply a dull blue, bleak and empty of everything but grief.

She'd only seen him look this kind of lost once before and it had frightened her then just as it frightened her now.

Without thinking, without uttering another word, Cuddy crossed the threshold into his room and blindly closed the door behind her. For many long minutes, they just stared at each other, seemingly unsure of what to do next. She felt a lump forming in her throat, tears filling her eyes, a tightening in her stomach.

Then she found herself reaching for him, eyes holding his as she touched his face, where she'd slapped him. Her breath caught when her fingers contacted the graying stubble of his beard and he trembled at her touch, his eyes falling shut when she cupped his jaw and drew her thumb across his cheek in an undeniably tender caress.

Any lingering traces of anger she had toward him dissipated when a long and shuddering breath shook his lanky frame. He seemed to sway toward her and she moved to embrace him, one arm sliding around his waist as the other moved from his cheek to his neck. She held to him gently, then tighter when she felt his chin touch the crown of her head and a hot tear fall to burn her scalp.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into his chest as his arms came around her slowly. She didn't know if the words were an apology for slapping him or an earnest condolence for the loss of Wilson, but figured it was probably both.

His response was breathed unsteadily into her hair and so soft that she barely made out the words. "Me, too."

That's all it took. Those two words shakily whispered and grief over Wilson, over House, over lost opportunity and everything else washed through her as though a dam had burst. She gasped with the release and curled her fingers into the worn soft cotton of House's t-shirt, clutching to him as his arms tightened around her.

She didn't sob and neither did he, but tremors racked them both as they just held onto one another.

Cuddy had not seen this coming. At no point during her drive from the cemetery to here had she imagined she and House standing so closely, holding on to one another for what felt like dear life.

Wilson had been so very right.

She wasn't sure how long she and House would have stood there — the rest of the day, night or century? — had his right leg not buckled suddenly. But it had and his sharp hiss of pain prompted her to ease her hold on him and let limp over to the bed closest to the window. He sank down onto the mattress with a grimace then stretched out his leg and laid a hand on his right thigh.

Out of habit, Cuddy's eyes immediately began scanning the room for his medicine. When she didn't see it, she asked, "Where are your meds?"

"Bathroom counter," he replied and gestured toward the back of the room with a jerk of his head.

Shucking her scarf and trench onto the second bed, she made her way to the lavatory and returned with a bottle of prescription-strength ibuprofen, more than a little surprised to find it instead of Vicodin. But then again, according to the label, it was Wilson's prescription.

"How many?" she asked as she popped the cap.

His reply was subdued. "Two."

Cuddy dispensed the pills into his palm and watched him dry-swallow them. She had never understood how he could do that so easily. She'd seen him take as many as four at a time with the Vicodin and yet she'd never-

"I'm clean," he said softly, drawing her gaze back to his.

His eyes seemed a bit brighter now. Or at least he looked a little less lost.

"That's good," she told him. It was a silly response, but she didn't know what else to say. The slight shift in his gaze did not give away how he felt about her response, one way or another.

Things were awkward now, the initial emotional release abating and leaving them - or at least Cuddy - unsure of what to do or say next.

Not wanting the mood to set in, Cuddy looked to her right at the a table and two armchairs by the window. The curtains were drawn with only a narrow band of murky daylight coming in between the panels. She gestured to the chair and asked, "May I?"

He nodded and she eased down into the chair nearest the door. She noted the bottles of scotch on the table and the plastic cups that were staple amenities of hotel and motel rooms everywhere. One of the cups was still in the outer wrapper, the other half full. The bottles were in similar states of quantity.

As she continued to stare at the table, House moved to sit in the chair opposite her. He sat with a grimace and quietly opened the unused cup then poured two fingers of the smoky brown liquor into it. He handed her the cup while he picked up his own.

He drained his in two swallows then looked out through the gap in the drapes.

Cuddy would have smiled had she thought he was purposefully giving her a chance to assess him, which he might have done at another time, but she couldn't smile when she saw the empty, faraway look descend on his rugged features once more. Instead, she made her assessment, as a physician and as someone who'd known him for the better part of two decades.

Primarily, he looked exhausted. She suspected he wasn't sleeping and hadn't for some time. He did however looked fitter than when she'd last seen him, but he had grayed more. His personal grooming habits and penchant for comfortable clothes hadn't changed at all, though. A faded Rolling Stones tee and traditional pajama bottoms were a more than familiar sight, as was his scruffy beard and short-cropped, untamed hair.

Taking him in, Cuddy felt an sudden desire to reach out and touch him but she resisted it, flexing her fingers to disabuse them of the notion. If she started that, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop. He could be infinitely more intoxicating than the booze in the bottles between them.

"How was the service?"

The question was soft but started Cuddy nonetheless. She wasn't sure how to answer but she tried. "It was very ... Wilson," she said and then did find herself smiling a bit when she watched a corner of his mouth turn up briefly.

House looked at her then, his eyes clear and assessing as they caught hers. Her insides quivered. They always did when he looked at her like that, as if he could see every little detail of her, know everything she was thinking and feeling. It was an unsettling feeling sometimes, but not always. Right now, she detected no intent to manipulate or sharpen a verbal paring knife. There was only genuine curiosity.

"When did he tell you?" he asked.

Cuddy set her untouched scotch on the table and held his gaze. "That you were alive?" she responded.

He nodded.

"Just after your ... the funeral. Before you both hit the road."

He looked down, his gaze falling on the empty plastic cup in front of him, taking on a distant look.

"You didn't come," he noted as a statement of fact. There was no complaint or indictment in his words or tone but it irritated her all the same. She countered it with a question of her own.

"Did you expect me to?"

Without looking at her, he shook his head then moved back over to the bed. His hand immediately went to his thigh and started rubbing it again, this time with both hands. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted a small but growing blood stain on his pajamas, just above his knee.

"You're bleeding," she pointed out to him.

"Damn," he muttered, looking down.

Her instincts as a physician and knowledge of House's propensity for self destruction propelling her forward, she slid out of the chair and onto to her knees in front of him. He let out a startled "Hey," as she reached for the waistband of his pajamas.

She ignored him and simply said, "Let me see."

With a grunt, he lifted his hips and let her ease the garment down enough to expose his hip and thigh. She frowned, her concern deepening when she saw the cuts and abrasions and a deep contusion over his scar, fading to the surrounding tissues.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"Oh my god. What did you do?"

Cuddy was unable to keep the worry from her tone as she took a closer look at the cuts on House's thigh. He'd tried to butterfly a couple of them but they were tearing back open.

"Laid the bike down yesterday," he explained.

"You need stitches," she stated noting the two that were deep enough to need more than a butterfly or band-aid. She gently grazed her fingers over the bruise and felt the muscles jump beneath the deep scar where another muscle used to be.

She glanced up at him in apology. "Have you been icing it?"

He didn't say anything so she took his lack of response as a "no" and pushed to her feet.

"I'll get some ice from the machine." she said, making her way over to the dresser. She was pleased to see a pair of plastic bags inside the ice bucket. They would make things significantly less messy than ice wrapped in just a towel.

"Do you have a suture kit?" she asked, already knowing the answer. House always had at least the basic medical tools with him, even in college, and she highly doubted that had changed. He was a creature of meticulous habit.

"Black duffle in the closet," he directed.

Slipping into the bathroom, Cuddy grabbed a washcloth and hand towel. She wet the washcloth then stopped by the closet.

The duffle was a big one and her breath caught when she saw what was inside it. Saline bags, IV needles, catheters, syringes, and a half dozen other things that would be needed to make a terminal patient comfortable.

Cuddy tried not to dwell on the reason for them and dug out the suture kit and searched until she found surgical gloves and a basic first-aid kit.

"Your tetanus up to date?" she asked as she rose and carried the supplies over and laid them out on the bed beside him.

"Yeah," he replied and took the damp cloth when she handed it to him.

While he began cleaning the wound with the cloth, she grabbed the ice bucket and ducked out of the room. She quickly made her way toward the ice machine just outside the office. She filled the bucket to the brim before going back to the room.

House was sitting just as she left him, the damp cloth draped over his thigh while he fumbled around with the suture kit. She frowned seeing that his hands had a noticeable shake.

Setting the ice bucket on the table, she knelt and met his gaze. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I don't know."

It was not the answer she wanted to hear but it wasn't one that surprised Cuddy. House had the appetite of a horse, but when he was unduly stressed, he didn't eat. She made a mental note to go down to the diner and get him something to eat once his injuries were taken care of.

Pulling on the surgical gloves, Cuddy reached into the suture kit that he'd managed to open and pulled out what she needed to close up the worst of the cuts. "Didn't find a local in the bag," she alerted him, knowing it was going to hurt like hell once she began stitching.

"Yeah, ran out," he stated somberly.

_Wilson._

Catching House's gaze, Cuddy asked him if he was ready. He nodded and moved the cloth aside then swabbed the area with an antiseptic wipe before letting her go to work on the laceration closest to the misshapen part of his leg.

It was a painful experience for both of them. She didn't like that helping him was adding to his pain. She could feel the deep spasming of the muscles in his thigh whenever she brushed the area with her knuckles or palm. It disturbed her that she could also see it happening beneath the skin.

Cuddy was intimate enough with his body, having been both his doctor and lover, to know that it was rarely this bad. She glanced up at him between a stitch and saw that his eyes were closed and his fists bunched in the bedspread. Sweat was beaded on his brow.

"Going as fast as I can," she assured him and tried to go a bit faster still.

By the time she had tied the suture off and snipped the thread, he was grunting in time with the spasms. She thought he needed a break and suggested they wait a few minutes before doing the other cut, but he shook his head.

"Let's get it over with," he said through the tight clenching of his jaw

Despite the pain saturating his blue gaze, Cuddy agreed to continue.

He released the covers long enough to swab the second cut then grasped them again as she closed it up. Thankfully, it was not as big as the other and farther away from the ground zero of pain.

Every time she looked at his mutilated thigh, she felt a pang of guilt. It had been her idea to remove the infarcted, dying muscle. It had been the halfway point between the recommended amputation and his way, a circulatory bypass that almost guaranteed a painful death from the toxins flooding his system. The compromise hadn't been what he wanted but his medical proxy and girlfriend, Stacy Warner, had taken the choice from him while he'd been in a medically induced coma.

Cuddy was glad they'd done it, that he'd lived, but removing the muscle had left him with pain as a constant companion. She'd never realized how bad it was, though, until they'd grown intimate and she'd seen his daily struggle just to get out of bed and get dressed, how difficult it was for him to get in and out of the bathtub, even his car. And when the weather was cold and rainy…

House had never blamed Cuddy, though. It was Stacy who'd taken the brunt of his outrage at being overruled. He'd pushed and pushed until she'd finally left him. He'd gone from being a charming if egotistical ass to a brooding, hypersensitive man who could muster up only a sliver of civility most days, the niceties and pleasantries of life having fallen victim to the indefinite presence of pain.

Right now, Cuddy would lay odds he'd love to dry swallow an entire bottle of Vicodin, but he didn't ask for any or anything stronger than what he'd already taken, which was a definite indication he was off the opiate. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but that made her proud of him and he impressed her with his ability to tough through the pain as she quickly finished closing the second wound then bandaged both. The second she was finished, though, he dropped back to the bed with an obscenity laced groan.

After discarding the surgical gloves, Cuddy acknowledged his strength by reaching and briefly covering his hand with hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was the closest thing to a platitude she would offer him knowing he found actions more honest and less irritating than words.

Pushing herself up from the floor, Cuddy let him rest while she put away the medical supplies and prepped a bag of ice. His eyes remained closed when she returned to him. She noted his chest was still rising and falling fairly rapidly and that his jaw was clenched tight. She frowned when she saw that the muscles in his leg were still fluttering.

Pulling the chair from the table over to the edge of the bed, Cuddy took a seat then gently reached down to rid him of the pajama bottoms altogether, tugging them down past his knees and down and off his feet.

His head raised and she saw confusion in his pained gaze. He let out a sound of frustration then flinched when she placed her hands on either side of his thigh, careful of the wounds she'd just repaired.

"Don't—" he began but she shushed him before he could say anything more.

Cuddy knew he had a strong aversion to anyone seeing, much less touching his scar. He could be almost hostile about it, which had been an obstacle over the years and why he'd never done physical therapy for the injury. He'd barely even tolerated her touch as his physician, allowing only what contact was absolutely necessary, no more. It wasn't until they were on the very cusp of becoming lovers that she'd dared to truly push that boundary.

Cuddy could vividly recall how he'd briefly pleaded for her to not caress his leg that first time, and how she'd rendered him speechless in the seconds that followed by pressing a gentle kiss to that damaged part of him. As their relationship progressed, he'd gradually grown to accept her touch in the manner it was bestowed, with love and acceptance, and sometimes, like now, with healing intent.

At the moment, Cuddy had a mixture of those things on her mind. His injured thigh was braced between her palms and she was gently sweeping her thumbs downward, pressing out and away from the horrendous scar, hoping to coax the muscles to relax. She kept her touch steady and gentle, seeking to soothe him in ways beyond the physical because pain was never confined to the flesh. It affected a person's emotions and thoughts and could consume them if it was not managed.

House was often consumed with pain.

Glancing up at him, Cuddy noted that he'd laid back down. His eyes were closed again but his fists were gradually loosening their death-grip on the bedspread. That was a good sign. It probably meant the ibuprofen was kicking in, and that her ministrations were helping.

As she looked at him, Cuddy found herself marveling at the ease of the situation between them, at how quickly the awkwardness of earlier had dissipated despite the level of closeness.

Given how things had ended between them, the depth of pain they'd managed to inflict on each other in the last days of their relationship, she had expected them to be woefully uncomfortable during all the time spent in the same room.

After he'd been released from prison, she'd frequently tried to imagine how she would respond if they were to meet. Would she call the cops? Would they verbally filet each other? Would they avoid eye contact or quickly look away and pretend they hadn't seen each other?

There were other things Cuddy had considered, too, but not a single scenario her mind had conjured during those months remotely resembled their current circumstances, which were in many ways, desperately intimate.

She imagined that House also found the situation unexpected and perplexing. He analyzed everything to death so she figured he'd probably hashed out a few probable scenarios of his own, and she'd wager none of them had gone like today.

Cuddy wondered if Wilson had also given it thought when he wrote the letter to her, if he'd foreseen today as it was unfolding, or if he'd imagined something more terrible than even she or House could have imagined. Considering Wilson had been an incurable romantic, she figured the former was more likely.

Hearing House let out a sigh of what sounded like relief, Cuddy looked back to his leg and noted that the muscle spasms had lessened and slowed. In response, she softened her touch without losing rhythm.

After a few minutes, he sat up slowly. She felt his eyes on her as she tended him then felt his fingers touch a strand of her hair. The contact was fleeting and tentative and she was not unaffected by it. A wonderfully familiar flutter blossomed low in her belly.

House wasn't unaffected either. Another part of his anatomy shifted in response to her touch, which she admitted was now more along the lines of a caress than a therapeutic massage. His response was a natural one, so she didn't make a big deal out of it when he murmured an apology.

"It's okay," she replied then changed her touch, stroking her hands along either side of his thigh, from hip to knee. After a few passes, he touched her again, his fingertips just grazing her cheek. The fluttering began again, prompting her to take a steadying breath before meeting his gaze.

He was looking at her as if he wasn't quite sure she was there, uncertainty and fear flickering in his gaze as he studied her face. Sadly, it wasn't a foreign expression. There were several times during their involvement that he'd asked her if he was hallucinating, as if he hadn't trusted his mind to tell him the truth. One true hallucination of them together had been all it took for doubt to plant deep roots in his consciousness. That fragile part of his mind frightened her sometimes, but it also brought out a protectiveness in her that had manifested itself in a number of ways over the years.

The desire … _the need_ to reassure him was strong, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. Were they still lovers, she would probably kiss him and take things to the next level, but they weren't lovers any more. They hadn't seen each other in nearly two years. In fact, the last time she'd seen him, he'd driven his car into her dining room. He'd since gone to prison for it, then faked his death to keep from going back to jail so that he could give Wilson a proper send-off.

Cuddy was pretty sure that nothing would spell disaster quicker than getting into bed with House. She had no doubt the sex would be good. It was the one part of their relationship that had never gone wrong. Start to finish, it had been fantastic. But she was fairly certain that was not the best place for them to start rebuilding their connection. Hell, she didn't know if a relationship of any sort with House was even possible with their history, or if she even really wanted one — though apparently some part of her was thinking about it since it had crossed her mind. But frankly, there was too much uncertainty and a huge elephant in the room that had yet to be addressed.

But God, she was tempted to chuck caution and rational thought to the wind.

Greg House, particularly a vulnerable House was nigh unto irresistible. Tenderness would be front row center. It would be beautiful, bone-melting lovemaking. He had spoiled her with that and she missed it. She longed for it with every ounce of her being and knew she would never find it with another. Which is what made it so hard to resist when his gaze finally settled with a different emotion altogether … _love_.

It was unmistakable.

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat and her hands stilled when he began leaning toward her. She found herself closing the distance, her eyes falling shut when he brushed his mouth against her temple then nuzzled down to press his lips to hers.

It was a gentle and loving kiss, and so preciously familiar. It made her ache for more, and it would have probably become more if her phone hadn't chosen that moment to ring.

Easing back from him, a hand rising to press lightly against his chest, Cuddy caught his gaze and spoke softly, "I need to take this."

He simply nodded and let her retreat gracefully, but not without briefly catching her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. He released her then, letting go to her search out her phone in the pocket of her coat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

The morning mist had turned into frigid rain.

Cuddy watched it fall outside the diner window as she waited for her order to be filled — — a cheeseburger, fries and soda for House, a salad for her and several bottled waters.

While talking to Janice, Rachel's nanny, she'd ducked out of the room to get something to eat and learned that her evening flight had been canceled due to a terror threat at Baltimore Washington International.

That meant there was no way she was going to make it home tonight unless she got in her car right now. That would mean a nearly four-hour drive in weather conditions that were expected to deteriorate over the next few hours and into the night. Freezing rain, sleet and snow were highly likely between Scranton and Baltimore, and any one of those would make the drive all that much longer.

Cuddy was not about to make that drive even if she had promised Rachel she would be back tonight. It would be better to disappoint her daughter than leave her an orphan. Rachel had taken it all in stride, as only a kid can, when Cuddy had explained the situation and Janice had assured Cuddy that she would look after Rachel until she could get back.

After that call, Cuddy had made another, to Johns Hopkins to alert the Dean of Medicine that she wouldn't be returning to work in the morning but expected to be back by Friday at the latest. She hated making that call almost as much as breaking the news to Rachel. It was always such a hassle playing catch-up, not to mention she felt bad about the problems it created for her colleagues, who would have to scramble to cover her lectures and rounds. That said, it was still easier than juggling an administrative workload.

Cuddy had loved her role as dean at Princeton-Plainsboro but the reasons behind her departure from the hospital she'd nurtured for nearly two decades had made her want to do something different for a while. She was enjoying teaching and practicing medicine regularly again, but there was still a part of her that still chapped at why she'd chosen to go.

Of course the principle reason for her leaving New Jersey was sitting in Room 18 — a man possessing the greatest medical mind of a generation, and who was at times certifiably insane. And Cuddy loved him, in spite of everything, something that she'd been made keenly aware of today.

That she had helped House and not strangled him or called the cops made her wonder if she was a bit on the crazy side herself.

A wry smile curling her lips, Cuddy thought maybe she should consider adding a straightjacket to her wardrobe. She had after all kissed him … and entertained the thought of going further than that.

Her mother and sister, if they knew who she was with, certainly wouldn't be shy about labeling her mentally incapacitated and possibly try to have her committed.

But then there was Wilson who had to have known what would — or at least could — happen once she was face to face with House. He had been the only other person who came close to understanding the complexity of what she and House shared.

Cuddy didn't know whether to thank or curse Wilson for pointing her here, for being right about her needing a friend — specifically House. Even though the endearing ass had hurt her more than anyone else ever had, he was also the only person with whom she could truly talk about Wilson. None of her "friends" or colleagues would understand the importance of her loss.

And House … he had no other friends.

It wasn't a surprise and definitely not a new development. He was notoriously hard work during the best of times. His defense mechanisms had defense mechanisms and he truly had no equal when it came to isolating himself. To protect himself, he could be downright cruel when pushing people away, especially if he cared about them. It was a twisted sort of logic, but it applied where House was concerned.

The more he cared, the more he hurt. The more he hurt, the greater the potential for him to wound those who loved him most. She'd experienced that hurt more than once, the last time in mind-blowing and heart-rending fashion. But that's because he'd let her in, just as he'd let Wilson in. And Cuddy didn't think it was vanity to believe he'd let her closer than anyone else. It certainly explained him turning her dining room into a drive-thru.

Currently, House was entirely too vulnerable for just anyone to approach him. Not that anyone would considering everyone believed he was "dead," but if someone were to try to "help" him, he would go deep. He probably wouldn't be afraid to seek some sort of surface level comfort from a stranger … _okay, a hooker_ … but that would really only be a short-term distraction. It wouldn't help and then he'd be left looking for more diversions that couldn't provide what he really needed. That's when the siren song of Vicodin or some other painkiller, or mind- or mood-altering substance would hit fever pitch and he'd be neck-deep in a battle with his addiction demons.

_It's entirely nuts to wade into this pool,_ Cuddy decided. She didn't owe it to him. She had once told him that she was tired of walking on eggshells when it came to his feelings. But she couldn't seem to help herself. For better or worse, she always came back to him, was always drawn back the orbit of Gregory House.

Cuddy knew he might not let her and that it might break them both, again, but she believed he was worth the effort. She had always believed he was worth the effort, even though she'd sometimes lied to herself about it — and to House.

She would never be able to explain to another soul why she would do this — why she was _going_ to do this. Only Wilson would have understood her compulsion and need to help House, and that was enough for Cuddy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

When Cuddy returned to the room, House was still sitting on the bed, but had managed to arrange the pillows so he could lean back against the headboard. The television was on, the channel tuned to one of those infernal soap operas he liked. He muted the melodrama, though, when she set the takeout sacks on the table.

"You okay to move or do want to eat over there?" Cuddy asked as she shrugged out of her overcoat and draped it over the back of the chair she'd occupied earlier. She wanted to talk to him about the call but decided that getting food into him was more important at the moment. The rest could wait.

When he didn't answer right away, she looked over to see him gingerly touching his thigh, which told her he was unsure if he should try to make the journey to the table. After a moment, he glanced up at her and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't want to risk it. She didn't blame him.

Cuddy nodded in understanding and readied his burger and fries. He thanked her when she took the food to him and she responded reflexively by reaching up and running her fingers through his hair. His eyes flew up to her, filled with surprise and disbelief. He looked much like he had that night after the crane crash in Trenton when she'd told him she'd broken off her engagement with Lucas.

It was such a rare expression to see on House. He was so damned smart and possessed uncanny analytical and observation skills — which were the foundation of his ability at solving baffling medical puzzles where others couldn't. He saw everything and read people with remarkable accuracy. He frequently predicted what someone would do at any given time. But he hadn't predicted what Cuddy had just done, just like he hadn't expected her to announce that she'd ended an engagement to pursue a relationship with him.

Cuddy knew why he was confused because she was confused as to why she didn't feel resentful. He probably expected it. It was a logical assumption that she wouldn't give him the time of day much less kiss him or any of the other things she'd done for him today. But she had done them, and now she had done this, with a natural ease that startled her.

Not knowing what to say or if she should say anything at all, Cuddy chose another action instead, just a brief touch of fingertips to his shoulder and a gentle direction for him to eat before she drifted away, back over to the table.

Cuddy ate her meal there, alternating her attention between the satisfactory salad and looking out the small part in the curtains. She wasn't looking at anything really, just avoiding looking at House. She honestly had no idea what she was doing. Well, she knew, but she didn't understand it. She'd been going back and forth all day, knowing she should be angry and yet she wasn't. Anger, in fact, was nowhere to be found at the moment.

Cuddy tried to find it. She focused on the events of that day, the sheer violence of the act and the fact he could have killed her and the others there, including her sister. But those surreal and terrifying moments seemed like a distant memory, faded and disassociated. The sense of shock, hurt, betrayal, and fury she'd felt when it happened and in the days and weeks afterward seemed muted and out of reach.

It was just weird.

Being mad at House had always come easy to her. Of course, he'd usually done something or was in the process of doing something that would royally piss her off — or at least annoy the hell out of her. Sometimes he'd do it on purpose just to get her worked up — which she realized years later was his version of foreplay. As a result, Cuddy had spent years being mad at him to some degree, but right now, she couldn't find a trace of it.

Of course, he hadn't done or said anything as of yet to spark her ire.

Cuddy worried that it would surface at any moment and wondered what they would do if or when it did. She didn't want to know but she did know, ironically, that it needed to happen at some point. They couldn't live in this strange state of limbo, bouncing back and forth between tentative and comfortable, between walking on eggshells and falling into familiar intimacy. They needed to talk about what happened, both what he'd done as well as what she hadn't done.

"You're wondering why you're not scratching my eyes out."

The astute observation prompted Cuddy to smile. She was not surprised he'd guessed the nature of her thoughts, figured he'd probably been wondering the same thing.

Looking over at him, she replied, "Something like that."

Amusement colored his gaze, but it wasn't the only emotion present in those brilliant blue eyes of his. There was trepidation also. Obviously, she wasn't the only one treading carefully.

He didn't say anything more and neither did she. Clearly neither of them was ready to jump into the fray quite yet, so they retreated to their own thoughts again and ate the rest of their meal quietly.

Once she'd cleaned up the remnants of takeout containers, Cuddy finally told him what she'd learned in her phone call with Rachel's nanny.

"My flight's been cancelled," she said, standing at the end of the bed where he sat. "Apparently there's a terror threat they're taking seriously enough to shut down BWI."

He frowned. "You going to drive back?"

She shook her head. "Too long a drive for this time of day and they're calling for bad weather. Better to stay here tonight and keep an eye on the weather. If it's better, I'll drive out tomorrow."

"No flights?"

"Booked solid to Dulles and Reagan International. BWI's up in the air," she told him. Janice had checked for Cuddy the minute she'd found out about the terror threat. But there was nothing available for several days. Driving was going to be her best option to get back tomorrow, weather permitting.

House nodded then offered to call the motel manager and get her a room for the night. He obviously wasn't presuming anything from their currently amiable state. She wasn't presuming anything either but while she had been eating, she'd considered that she should just stay in the room with him. She might be borrowing trouble but she honestly didn't see any sense in getting another room if they were going to spend any amount of time talking. She doubted she'd be able to sleep anyway. She had too much on her mind.

"If it's okay with you," she responded. "I'd rather just take the other bed."

House's eyebrows shot up but he didn't comment. She smiled again at him and slowly sat down on the end of the bed. Turning her head toward him, she explained, "I'd like to hear about your trip." Her tone was infinitely soft because she knew that just the mention of Wilson indirectly would stir his emotions.

And it did. She watched sadness drop over him like a shroud as he held her gaze. It touched her that he hadn't tried to hide it by looking away. This grief was something they shared, and she was glad to not be alone with it. And that she could make sure he wasn't alone with it … at least for a time.

"Did you bring anything?"

"Yes," Cuddy answered. "I always carry an overnight bag with essentials just in case."

"Never know if you'll end up stranded."

"Exactly," she replied then asked, wanting to make sure he was okay with her staying in the same room, "So I'll go get it?"

After only a moment's hesitation, he gave a single nod of assent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

Coming in from out of the cold, Cuddy saw House on his feet, limping toward the bathroom. To say he was unsteady was an understatement. His bad leg nearly buckled every time he took a step.

She frowned. "Where's your cane?"

Without looking back, he quipped, "Casualty of yesterday's Easy Rider mishap. Need to find an antique shop around here somewhere. Whatcha say, Cuddy? It's New England, think I've got a shot at finding one?"

Cuddy couldn't help but smile hearing a bit of the old House in his words, even though his tone was tight from pain. He loved old, stylish canes — or ones with hot-rod flames.

Dropping her bag onto the first bed, she eased up beside him and silently offered her assistance. He looked at her for only a moment before accepting, draping his right arm around her shoulders and then pushing away from the dresser. He didn't lean on her as they continued the journey, just relied on her to keep him steady and balanced. It was a bit tricky considering he was a head taller than her, but they'd done this particular shuffle before and fell into step as if the last time had been yesterday.

When they reached the threshold, she asked him if he was going to bathe.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"You got it?" She was almost afraid to ask. Sometimes he would accept help. Sometimes he would resent the offer and launch a verbal volley of caustic insults and sarcasm.

Cuddy figured he was in a mood to be helped today because he actually shook his head. She wasn't surprised. The pain had been so bad earlier she doubted he was feeling all that much better. Now he was embarking on a task that would require him to remain standing for at least several minutes at a time, not to mention the travel time to and from the bed.

Once he was standing on the tile, he removed his arm from around her and braced his hand against the door jamb. "Gotta pee," he told her.

Cuddy eased away and gave him the privacy he wanted. "Let me know when you're ready."

He did and when she returned, she had him sit on the toilet so she could help him out of his shirt. "Sponge bath would be best with those cuts on your leg," the doctor in her advised, "But if you make it quick, a shower is doable. I'll just re-bandage when you're done."

He stared at the shower and tub for several long seconds, clearly debating which course to take. "I don't know how long I can stand." He looked at her then, eyes searching. "You up for it? It being a sponge bath."

"I think I can handle it," she said, giving him a little smile.

His relief was visible. He dropped his head with a heavily sighed "Thank you."

Cuddy didn't know if she owed their situation or his exhaustion and discomfort to his not making a joke at this point. In the past, sexual innuendos would have flown fast and furious, causing her to roll her eyes, blush, or jump his bones. But with none forthcoming, she got down to business and helped him undress down to his underwear. A couple of years ago, she would have helped with that garment, too, but their situation being what it was, she figured it would be best if he handled that part once she had the rest of him bathed.

On the bathroom counter, she found his toiletries bag and retrieved his body wash. The tub was closest to the toilet, so she closed the drain and ran some hot water into the basin.

"Be just a minute," she told him as she picked up his clothes and took them into the other room. While there, she stripped out of her nice skirt and blouse and put on the yoga pants and t-shirt from her bag, deciding she needed to spare her nicer clothes in case she needed them tomorrow.

When she returned to the bathroom, he was where she'd left him. His left hand was braced against the wall while his right was digging into his thigh above the worst cut and scar. His eyes were screwed shut and she watched the muscles tick in his jaw.

"House," she sighed in commiseration and quickly moved to snag a couple towels. She shut off the faucet, stirred in some of his body wash, then wet a rag. She made sure to wring out all the excess water.

Kneeling in front of him, for the second time of the day, she gently washed his feet and then his legs. She avoided his right thigh, deciding it would be best to do that last. If cleaning were to aggravate it, she didn't want him to have to wait for her to finish.

Cuddy rinsed and re-wet the cloth several times as she went about the task, washing and then wiping away any soap residue. When she moved to his torso, he commented that the heat felt good. She slowed her pace in response and felt some of the tension in his body begin to ease as she ran the cloth over his belly and chest.

She caught him watching her as she went about the task and noted he was looking at her again as if she might not really be there. That he was already wondering again made her fear what sort of shape he'd been in the last few days, since Wilson had passed and before she'd arrived.

House was a strong-willed man. But for all his mental acumen and physical durability in the face of great pain, there was a part of his beautiful mind that was fragile and should be stamped "handle with care."

That's what Cuddy was trying to do. The other stuff would be dealt with in time. Right now, he needed the quiet and gentleness, a safe place. For better or worse, she knew she was his safe place. He needed what only she could give him, what he would accept from only her. Which was probably why he thought he might be imagining it all.

Cuddy wished she knew how she could reassure him that he wasn't hallucinating. Then she decided she should just come out and say it.

Pausing, she stared directly in his eyes and stated softly, "I'm here."

His right hand moved from his thigh and she caught it, gripped it tightly while continuing to hold his gaze. After a few moments, he squeezed her hand in return and nodded.

"Okay."

Gently releasing her hold on his hand, she resumed washing him. "Let's finish up so you can lay down," she said as she ran the cloth over his fingers and palm, then up over his arm. He gave her his left arm once she was finished with the right, and turned slightly so she could reach his back.

When it came time to wash his face, Cuddy opened the drain on the tub then wet a new cloth in the sink with cool water. He closed his eyes and turned his face up when she returned to him. She ran the cloth slow and gentle over his brow then down along each side of his face. She watched in wonder as peace descended over his features in the wake of her touch. Then he opened his eyes, lids lifting slowly to reveal…

Gratitude. Openness. Love.

Cuddy was lost. This was _her_ House. This was the man she'd given her heart to and though he'd broken it, all she could see was him and tender, intoxicating affection. All she could feel was what she always felt when confronted with his love … breathless and wanting.

Laying aside the cloth, Cuddy took his face in her hands and caressed him again. She stroked his damp skin with her fingers, gently curled them around his ears, then trailed them lightly across his stubble-covered cheeks. She ached at the familiarity of him, of touching him like this. She loved it. She felt weightless with the beauty of it.

Bowing her head, Cuddy kissed him, breathy soft, and he kissed her back. He returned the tender caresses of her lips just as she gave them. His right hand came to rest on her waist, slid up just beneath the hem of her shirt and caressed her lower back.

Cuddy could have cried at the contact. It had been too long since anyone had touched her, even longer since he had. She did cry when she heard him say her name, a longing whisper against his mouth.

Easing back, she met his searching eyes and saw in him what she felt, the need, the ache for each other. The intrinsic need for love.

Cuddy wished they were in the other room, in the bed. She wanted to take him inside her and give herself up to what was flowing between them. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted to touch and be touched. She wanted to kiss him until she could no longer breathe, to love and be loved in the way she'd only ever known with him.

It was crazy. It was beyond foolhardy. But she wanted it and he knew it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

"You sure?"

The words were said softly and made Cuddy's heart flutter. She had only one answer. No matter the consequences, she wanted this more than she wanted her next breath.

"Yes," she whispered as she pressed her mouth to his in a confirming kiss. She stepped back then and slipped her arm around his waist when he pushed to his feet.

The trek to the bed wasn't without pain, but they made it without mishap. Cuddy's eyes welled with tears when he paused at one point just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Without a word, they took each step until they reached the bed he'd occupied earlier. Standing at the end, he loomed over her. His gaze drifted over the features of her face before fixing on her mouth. Her eyelids lowered when he leaned in and touched his lips to hers, just once, so very soft.

A pair of tears slipped free and she took a shaky breath when he bowed and pressed his cheek to hers, leisurely nuzzling, dropping whispering kisses here and there, along her cheek and jaw, down her neck.

Eyes closed, she touched him with lover's hands, fingers skimming over his chest and arms, around his shoulders. She pulled herself closer to him, seeking his warmth and shelter in the cradle of his arms.

When he came up to kiss her again, she peered at him through her lashes until his lips captured hers. She folded a hand behind his neck and drew him in as their mouths melded with beloved knowing.

Their tender encounters of the past had always been tender in every aspect, and now was no exception. This was less about sex than a love that defied all explanation and had survived everything that had been thrown at it for more than two decades.

When long, tapered fingers curled in the hem of her shirt, Cuddy raised her arms and let him pull the garment up and off her body. Her bra went next, goose fleshing at the light, gliding touch of his fingertips across her back to find the hooks. He guided the straps down her arms and dropped the silk and lace to join her shirt in the floor.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Cuddy drew them slowly down over his chest and abdomen. Her eyes followed the path and lower. He was aroused despite the pain in his thigh. He'd lived with it for so long that it wasn't always a deterrent to sex.

Hands resting on his hips, she slowly lowered to the floor and began gingerly divesting him of his briefs. He caught his erection with his hand, freeing her to concentrate on moving the material down and past his injured thigh.

Loving compassion engulfed her when she looked at his injured flesh. The bruising made the divot in the limb more pronounced. She longed to press a kiss to that part of him but refrained, choosing instead to look up at him and give him the chance to call things to a halt if the pain was going to be too much.

"You sure?" she mirrored his earlier question.

Crystal-clear blue eyes greeted her, brimming with moisture. He held his hands out to her in answer.

_God, how could I not love him._

Slipping her fingers into his palms, Cuddy let him guide her to her feet. He pushed her pants and underwear from her hips. They dropped to the floor quietly. She stepped out of them as he moved onto the bed. She patiently waited while he situated himself, knowing from experience that he would need to let her take the reins to avoid aggravating his bad leg.

Once he was ready, he extended his arm in invitation. She went to him without hesitation and carefully straddled his hips. His hands enfolded her breasts as she leaned over him. He reverently molded and shaped them with his palms and fingers, swirled his thumbs around her nipples, bringing them to pebbled hardness. Then he took one into his mouth and launched his hands around her waist and over her back.

Cuddy closed her eyes and reveled in the power of his touch, the steady suction of his mouth. Her nerve endings fired as his fingertips swirled over her shoulder blades then glided down her spine. She moaned softly and arched above him. He released her breast and she looked down at him. Her breath fled at seeing how emotionally exposed he was at this moment, how trusting.

Cuddy felt a deep fluttering of her heart and a sense of responsibility regarding his. She had felt it earlier but it took on a new dimension now, deepening, making her realize that this encounter was putting them on a path to ... _something_. There was no way either of them walked out of this room with their lives the same as they were before they walked in. There was no way this didn't mean something. She didn't know what the future held, what he wanted, or even specifically what she wanted beyond more of what they were feeling. For now, she was content to lose herself it, so she did.

Taking his face in her hands, Cuddy caressed him, delighting in how his scruff of a beard abraded her palms, pricked lightly at her fingertips. Friction and vulnerability ... they where the hallmarks of the man beneath her. He could be one, the other, both, and everything in between.

Bowing, Cuddy kissed him as softly as she knew how, pouring out nearly two years worth of missing this type of connection, of missing him. She moaned softly when he slid his hands up to curl over her shoulders and hold her to him. Their mouths met and parted. Met and parted, again and again.

Then she was raising over him and finding that part of him insistently prodding against her sex. She curled her fingers around him and watched his eyes fall shut. A shuddering breath caused his whole body to tremble as her hand pumped him leisurely.

When she began taking him into her, his eyes opened and latched onto hers. He didn't look away, and she held her breath until she had him firmly seated inside her. The breath came out in a thready exhale of his name. He filled her fully, and she felt that delightful burn of her body adjusting to him. For several moments, she just shut her eyes and basked in this deliciousness that she'd thought she'd never feel again. In truth, she felt like she'd come home, and it was a great feeling.

Deft hands touched her body, fingers sliding to her sex to find the swollen bud that held the key to her demise. She all but melted at the first light touch, trembled head to toe, pleasure swamping her as he circled it slowly. She fell into the leisurely rhythm he set, leaning forward to brace her hands in the mattress to either side of his head. Her hair tumbled forward as she rocked her hips against his, and she moaned at the easy slide of his erection in and out of her. Her body had been readying itself for him since she'd bathed him and it was giving in earnest now.

Cuddy rode him slowly, bowed her head beside his and pressed her cheek to his. She kissed his neck and shoulder, and was kissed in kind. She found herself speaking to him then, words tumbling from her tongue without prior thought, making them some of the most honest she'd ever uttered in her lifetime.

"I've missed you."

Simple words full of meaning, powerful enough to have him suddenly sitting up, taking her with him.

Cuddy's heart leapt when he pressed his ear to her chest and held onto her, both arms wrapped tightly around her In response, she cradled him to her, one arm around his shoulder, the other curled around his head. She just held him as he breathed harshly against her skin. She felt both joy and grief emanating from him and the emotions swelled in her to match. She wept with it all.

It had never been like this before. _He_ had never been like this before.

Cuddy touched her lips to his brow, whispered his name … his given name, something she'd done only a few times in her life.

He shuddered in response and slid his hands down to grip her ass, urging her to pick up the pace. She did, taking him faster and deeper, each roll of her hips edging them closer to the precipice.

Then he leaned his head back and looked up at her. And they were there, falling over the edge together, groans and gasps filling the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

"Wilson's $20 richer."

Laying beside House, Cuddy turned her head, looked at him across the pillows.

"What?"

"He bet we wouldn't make it a day."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She should have known. House's juvenile need to place bets on just about everything was a constant of the universe - and Wilson had been his enabler, along with the rest of the staff at Princeton Plainsboro. Strangely, she took comfort in it.

"Why am I not surprised you'd bet on us having sex," she said aloud.

He threw her a look of mock indignation. "He insisted."

"Right."

Cuddy sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. "So what did you bet?" she asked him curious, knowing full well there was another option.

His expression changed in a flash, a forced grin emerging when he replied, "That you wouldn't come. Ha! See what I did there."

She smiled indulgently at his attempt at a joke, hoping to take some of the sting out of the moment. "He told you about the letter?"

"Just that he was letting you know where I was, and that the rest would be up to you," he answered then moved to sit up.

To help him, Cuddy grabbed the pillows and put them behind his back so he could lean against the headboard.

"So why did he believe I'd come?" she asked, as she helped further situate the pillows until he as comfortable.

"Wilson was a romantic."

Cuddy couldn't argue with the assessment.

"He left something for you," House told her as he settled. "It's in my knapsack," he nodded in the direction of the closet then followed up with another stab at humor. "I'd go get it but this," he motioned to his leg, "and after _this_," he moved his finger in a gesture indicating himself and himself, "I don't think I can move."

Suitably amused, Cuddy flashed him another smile and slipped out of the bed. She picked up her shirt from the floor on the way and slipped it on before seeking out the bag.

"It's in the envelope." House told her as she opened it.

Cuddy found a yellow bubble mailer. It was sealed and had her name written on the front. She took it out and sat akimbo on the bed by the closet. She held up the envelope to House as he watched her from the other bed. "Still sealed?"

"I resisted temptation. Shocking."

She looked at him a moment. "He made you promise not to open it," she deduced, adding, "And you keep promises."

He gave a half shrug.

Cuddy looked back at the package. From the shape and weight, she suspected it was a book of some sort. She opened it to find it was exactly that, a small leather-bound journal with an elastic band that held it shut.

Opening it, Cuddy saw Wilson's familiar handwriting on the first page… _a personal journal_ … with the first entry dated shortly after House's "death," as the duo began their road trip.

Confused as to why he would give it to her, she looked to House for an explanation. "Why?"

He just shrugged again. "Maybe because of _this_, now," he said. "He wrote in it obsessively until…"

House's voice trailed off, leaving _he could no longer do it_ unsaid.

Looking back at the book, Cuddy touched the handwriting on the page. It was the left-handed scrawl she'd seen on reports and charts during her years at Princeton Plainsboro - and on cards for special occasions.

Left-handedness was something she'd shared with Wilson, along with loving House.

Cuddy tried to sift through the possible reasons he would give her the journal of his final days and not House, truly his best friend. But it came down to House's theory. In all likelihood, Wilson had wanted a reconciliation between her and House, of at least their friendship. She knew Wilson had loved both of them and that House would be alone without him - truly alone. The thought of that made her heart ache.

In the times she'd talked to Wilson over the last year, she'd actually voiced her regrets about things ending so badly with House. And although she hadn't come out and said it directly, her affection for the king of asshood hadn't been resolved. She'd also mentioned a time or two that she'd felt guilty about hurting House so deeply that he would react so violently.

Wilson had known as well as anyone that House could be a world-class jerk, and that there was merit in possibly creating a special category of jerkism just for him. But he'd never hurt her physically, never even threatened her, which is why it had come as such a shock. It had taken her months to shed the disbelief that had settled in once the initial fury had passed. Wilson had also been taken aback and, Cuddy seriously doubted that even House had thought himself capable of it.

House had adamantly reminded her at the start of their relationship that he had and would do terrible and horrible things to her - but the thought of _that _had never entered her mind. It had been, of course, an out for her if she wanted it. Obviously she hadn't taken it and interestingly enough, despite everything, she didn't regret passing it up.

Outside of the bumps, Cuddy had been truly happy with him during those months together. And she believed House had been happy, really happy, maybe for the first time in his life.

It had been awkward at first. Admittedly, his experience in committed relationships had been limited, but no more-so than her own. He'd definitely been like a fish out of water with Rachel, but they'd bonded anyway. Cuddy had always thought it was because Rachel sensed the child in him. There'd been a boisterousness in him at times that she envied. He could get on the floor and play with Rachel just like a kid, without a care in the world.

Of course, once Rachel was tucked in for the night, he'd come to Cuddy's bed and be as grown-up as she'd ever known him to be. They would talk about all things - medicine, music, their days. When it came to sex, he could be passionate, wild, even a bit kinky at times, but it was the tender, emotion-filled lovemaking that she'd loved, and missed most.

What they'd shared just a short bit ago had served as a reminder of what they shared, and what they could be together - and not just of what they'd lost.

_Which is exactly why Wilson had chosen to open the door to today._

The kind and gentle oncologist really was a hopeless romantic. _Had been_, she corrected herself mentally, and felt grief wash over her. She hadn't been as close to him as House, but he'd been an important part of her life - if only because of the affection they shared for their mutual friend.

Even though she hadn't seen Wilson much in the last couple of years, Cuddy was going to miss him. His occasional phone calls and emails had always been welcome. She just wished...

"You okay?"

The question had been spoken softly, making her aware that she'd been silently crying. Warm tears were slipping down her face.

Looking at House, she could see his concern for her. Somewhere she found a smile for him, a bit of one, and held his gaze. When he looked at her like that...

Cuddy set the journal aside and made her way back over to him. She sat beside him and studied the familiar features of his face for a moment then she raised her hand and brushed the backs of her fingers along his cheek. Her heart trembled in her breast and she reiterated her earlier confession.

"I really have missed you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

"You forgive me?"

There were times that Gregory House looked much like a little boy lost. Right now was one of them, his eyes conveying both surprise and hopefulness. Clearly clemency was something he desired but had apparently been resigned to never getting.

Cuddy couldn't help but smile. "I can never stay mad at you, House. I've tried. God knows I've tried, for years. And I tried earlier today and I just couldn't find it."

Confusion and bewilderment moved to the fore.

"You should be furious," he stated plainly.

She knew she should and yet ... "Perhaps."

Now he looked skeptical, which didn't surprise her. He was a cynic and her response was cryptic at best. She could tell he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, like he always did. So she dropped it.

"What makes you think you don't deserve forgiveness?"

His frowned deepened. His gaze took on a keen edge.

"Because I could have killed you."

And there it was. The elephant in the room. The one thing she wasn't sure either of them was going to give voice to and the one thing that had disturbed her most about what'd happened.

Cuddy had been pissed off but time and distance had ultimately given her perspective on the dissolution of their relationship and what had led up to that day. She'd done a lot of soul-searching and eventually let herself look at it through what she knew about the man. Not the arrogant, narcissistic prick he could be, but the one who'd retrieved her medical school desk out of storage to replace the one in her office. The one who'd challenged her to stand up to her mother when the woman's life hung in the balance. The one who'd kept the secret of her IVF treatments when he could have tossed it into the gossip mill. The one who did more good than he did any real harm. Couple all that with her compulsion to forgive him everything and there had been only one possible verdict: House would never have _tried_ to kill her.

Looking at him now, though, she challenged him because it needed to be done. "You don't think I know that?" She paused a moment then continued, "You scared the hell out of me, and I was beyond angry for a long time. But ultimately I knew that it was never your intent to take my life, or any one else's. It's not in you."

He looked away from her but she forged on, her tone softening.

"House, you are not and never have been a violent man. I know that. I knew that then," she said. "But you _are_ impulsive and self-destructive, and when you're hurting, every part of you hurts, and pain can take any of us to places we'd otherwise never go."

When he looked at her again, Cuddy confessed her own sins with a simple statement.

"I broke your heart."

"Cuddy-"

She shook her head and cut him off with a plea. "Let me just say this, please."

He offered no protest or further interruption, just looked at her gravely.

"I'm not making excuses for you over what happened, but I played a part in what led you to that point."

Seeing another protest rising, she again shook her head at him. She could practically see the negative, self-flagellating thoughts forming in mind. He was preparing to take _all_ the responsibility for what gone wrong between them. _Damn his father_, she thought but held House's gaze when she continued, practically willing him to listen to her and not the poisonous legacy of his childhood.

"I wasn't fair to you and I have to own up to that," she stated unequivocally. "And I can't _believe_ I'm saying this, but my mother was right. I do have a ridiculous set of standards, for myself and others. You came up against those with your relapse and I…"

Cuddy looked away from him, then laid out her shame before him.

"From the outset, you warned me of where we could end up," she began. "You reminded me of how you had, could, and would hurt me. I knew that. I've known you nearly half my life, so it wasn't news to me. But I believed we had to try because I didn't think either of us would ever be happy without giving it a chance." She took a deep breath, centering herself before continuing. "The problem is that I think I was just waiting for that moment to come and expected the worse so that when it did, I used it as an excuse to end it before we hurt each other worse."

She looked up at him again, told him, "We probably could have worked through it if we'd talked, but we didn't. We didn't try to fix it or make it better. I had wanted to know if we could work but the truth is that relationships require actual work. And I didn't put in that work when it was needed most."

"You weren't alone in that," House interjected.

"No," she replied, "but you made an effort."

He looked at her with absolute honesty. "I was an ass, Cuddy. I retaliated with the deliberate intention of hurting you."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "You wanted me to feel as bad as you did because I didn't let you see my own heartbreak. I knew you felt guilty enough without adding my devastation onto the heap, but that was a major miscalculation on my part because it made it seem as if we hadn't mattered. It didn't relay my desire to ease your pain but instead sent the message that we'd meant nothing to me when, in fact, we meant everything."

"It doesn't excuse what I did to you."

"No," Cuddy agreed, "But I know what part of you it came from." She paused just a moment before definitively declaring, "Your father was an absolute bastard."

House looked taken aback by the indictment. He responded with "You only met him once."

"Once was enough."

And it was true. Cuddy had only met the man once, during a dinner years ago, and she'd taken an immediate dislike to him. He'd belittled House at every turn — in public. Clearly nothing House had done had ever been good enough for the colonel. Cuddy had barely made it through the meal without jabbing her fork in the man's eye. She'd thought about that over the years and wondered what it must have been like for House as a child. She had and still suspected much of House's psychological pain stemmed from his upbringing, and his reaction to her mentioning the man only confirmed it. He looked away, shame filling his gaze.

Cuddy's heart broke for him. That shame had nothing to do with his general assery as an adult but everything to do with a boy who'd been denied his father's affection and approval because he wasn't who is father wanted him to be. Cuddy reached out to him with words.

"I know you don't talk about it but if you ever want to..."

Cuddy let the rest go unspoken and glanced down at his hand, which lay near her hip. Gently she took it into her own and he let her entwine their fingers. She smiled at that and looked up to see him smiling, too. It was a somewhat shy expression - not something she'd ever associated with House. But there it was.

"Thank you" was all he said.

Cuddy squeezed his hand gently then struck a contrite tone when she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, House," she began, her smile falling away. "I'm sorry for not giving you credit for your efforts with us, for not giving us a second chance." She squeezed his hand again. "I deeply regret that I didn't at least try to save us."

For a moment he just looked at her, quiet and considering, then he spoke softly but with a dash of levity that was desperately needed in that moment.

"Cuddy, you do guilt better than anyone I know."

Through tears threatening to spill, she found herself smiling again. It wasn't a new accusation. "I'm well trained, thanks to my mother."

House's eyes flashed with amusement. "You do realize you've mentioned her twice in one conversation? Is that a sign of an apocalypse of some sort?"

A soft laugh escaped Cuddy's lips. "Maybe," she responded then added, "Of course _this_ could be, too."

With a tug on her hand, House coaxed her to come to him. She went, easing up to stretch out alongside him on the bed. She was mindful of his leg as she laid her head on his chest and draped her arm across his body. He helped her settle, his arms wrapping around her. He held her close and kissed the top of her head. His breaths warmed her scalp for several minutes before he spoke. His voice was infinitely soft when he did, but his body grew tense.

"Tell me," he whispered into her hair. "How does a man who believes actions are more important than words apologize to the woman he loves for disappointing her and then driving a car into her house, just because his feelings were hurt?" He threaded his fingers into her hair and cradled her closer to his chest as he pleaded gently, "Please tell me because I don't know, and I need to know."

With a tearful smile, Cuddy tightened her half-embrace and let her eyes fall shut. She whispered then, telling him what he truly needed to know, "You just did."


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

From one of the armchairs at the motel room table, Cuddy divided her attention between reading Wilson's journal and watching House sleep.

In the last hour the latter had become her primary occupation as daylight disappeared. She could have turned on the nearest lamp, but was afraid she might wake him. And he needed to rest.

Talking to him earlier as they lay on the bed, she'd asked him how much he'd been sleeping and he'd confessed that he'd only been catching naps here and there for the last several weeks.

Between all that he'd been dealing with and the fact he was something of an insomniac anyway, his answer hadn't been a surprise. But he was sleeping now, thankfully.

Cuddy had napped with him for a while but eventually rose to shower. She'd re-donned her yoga pants but rather than putting her t-shirt back on, she'd snagged the Michigan sweatshirt hanging with House's leather jacket in the closet. She told herself it was to ward off the chill that had begun settling in with the weather, but in truth, she'd always loved wearing his shirts. They were loose, fairly swallowing her whole, which made them infinitely comfortable. And they smelled of him.

As Cuddy gazed at him, the sheet settled at his waist, she found herself filled with wonder at how things had gone since she'd arrived, only hours ago.

She'd taken care of him, they'd made love, and then they'd managed to have the talk they should have had years ago, but'd had sooner than she'd expected. She'd done most of the talking but still he'd spoken.

It hadn't shocked her to hear him say he didn't know how to apologize to her. She wasn't even sure she knew how any apology would be adequate and yet she'd heard the remorse in his whispered, emotion-filled plea for help, and that had been enough. Because it was House.

The man could verbally spar with her all day, use words to manipulate people into doing what he wanted them to do, when he wanted them to do it. But when it came to the important things and deep feelings, he struggled to express himself with words. Actions were his preferred method of communication. That was a good thing sometimes. Other times, not so much.

_They'd been good things today_, Cuddy mused. But so had the words. Some things needed to be said because they needed to be heard. And House knew that, even if he had a problem finding the right words to say what he wanted to say. That he made the effort at all was a coup.

Glancing at the clock on the nondescript nightstand, Cuddy decided she needed to wake him. It was nearing seven o'clock and the motel's diner closed at nine. She thought if he was up to the short walk, they might go down and eat there instead of in the room. A bit of fresh air would undoubtedly do him good after being cooped up inside all day.

With that goal in mind, Cuddy closed up the journal and laid it on the table. She rose then and went over to the bedside. He was snoring softly, making her smile as she reached to touch his shoulder.

"House."

When he didn't respond, she almost reconsidered waking him, but knew it was for the best. He could go straight back to bed after they ate.

"House," she tried again, this time gently shaking his shoulder.

His eyelids raised slowly. Seeing her, he said, "Hey."

"I thought we might go down to the diner for supper."

He ran a hand over his face, from brow to chin, then looked at her again in confusion. "What?"

Cuddy smiled and reiterated her suggestion, "The diner will close soon and I thought we'd go down for supper."

"Yeah," he said then blinked hard once, then twice, clearly trying to shake off the dregs of sleep.

After a moment, he sat up slowly and tossed the bedding away from his body. She eased back when he pivoted to exit the bed, his right hand hooking just beneath his right knee to guide his bad leg over the side of the bed first.

Cuddy noted the bruising didn't appear any worse than earlier, despite their activities. She watched him knead the muscles around his knee then up above the bruising on his thigh. He didn't seem to be in pain so she figured he was trying to ease any stiffness that had taken up in the joints. It was something he dealt with daily, along with the pain.

"Think you're up to the walk?" she asked him.

He didn't answer right away, but did hold a hand out to her. She took it and helped him up. He wobbled a bit but all-in-all, he seemed better than before. It was only after he'd been on his feet for a few moments and taken a couple of experimental steps that he told her, "Yeah, I can make it."

Cuddy released his hand then and let him pass her. She found herself admiring the scenery as he hobbled buck-naked to the bathroom. She couldn't help it. He'd always had a great ass and that hadn't changed over the years. But then she saw something that hadn't been there before she'd last perused his backside. Her jaw dropped.

"Oh my God, you have a tattoo!" she found herself exclaiming.

He shot a knowing grin over his shoulder, one big enough to make her blush then continued on, announcing, "Gonna grab a shower."


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

"… and I'll have a cup of tea."

Cuddy finished placing her order and waited as House placed his. He went with lighter fare than earlier, bypassing the hamburger and steaks and instead requesting the beef stew. She'd gone for the vegetable soup herself. He also ordered tea.

As the waitress moved away from the table, still jotting on her order pad, Cuddy met House's gaze. He looked like he felt better, more focused than he'd been all day. He needed more sleep, though. Exhaustion still clung to him despite the rather long, hot shower he'd taken.

The memory of him walking to the shower and her admiration of his behind had her smiling.

"So, about the tattoo…" she began and watched a grin slide across his mouth.

"Lost a bet."

"Do I want to know what the bet was about?" she asked.

"Probably not," he said with a shake of his head.

"But you had to get a tattoo?"

"Those were the stakes," he told her, a strong undertone of humor when he explained further, "Loser had to get a tattoo and the winner got to pick it out."

Cuddy hadn't been able to make out what the tattoo was earlier, just that he had one, but now she was really curious as to what it could be. _What would Wilson stick him with?_ she wondered then fought a giggle when she realized the where had been a given knowing Wilson. _House is an ass. _He'd said it more times than she could count over the years, and she could almost hear him saying it now.

"You had no say at all?" she asked. "Not even about where?"

"He had a thing about my _ass_."

House whispered the last word in exaggerated fashion, raised his eyebrows and threw her a wink of ludicrous proportions. It reminded her of happier times, of the silliness in him that she found as adorable as irritating at times. She was glad to see it now and laughed softly.

She started to ask him what the tattoo was when the waitress arrived with their drinks. Once she'd drifted away, Cuddy leaned forward conspiratorially.

"So what is it?"

"Ha! You didn't get a good enough look earlier!"

Heat blossomed on her cheeks, though she had no idea why. It's not as if she hadn't seen his ass before, or even that she hadn't ogled it as much as he ogled her own ass and breasts.

She deflected, teasing, "Is it a jackass?"

He laughed then. It was such a rare sound from him that she found her smile brightening and her heart lifting. God, it was good to hear him laugh, genuinely laugh.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he said with a cock of his head, blue eyes alight with a challenge.

_This is what we do best_, she mused. The verbal thrust and parry, the matching of wits, meeting challenge with challenge. It had served as nearly two decades of foreplay, until they'd finally gotten together, and she was realizing just how much missed it. She hadn't thought she would after everything. But here she was feeling more alive than she'd felt in a very long time and she was enjoying it.

Her cheeks hurting with amusement, Cuddy sat back and reached for a sugar packet. "If you don't want to tell me, I can always wait until you're asleep and take a peek."

"You just want to look at my ass again," he accused playfully.

"Yep, you caught me," she quipped, "Your ass is the center of my universe."

The waitress would, of course, choose that moment to return with their food. Cuddy glanced up at her in embarrassment, which skyrocketed when House did a very House thing.

"She loves my ass," he announced in a stage whisper. "Can't get enough of it."

"House!" It was a sharp whisper of reprimand. She looked up at the waitress, "You'll have to excuse him," she said then turned her gaze back to him, pointedly saying, "_He's_ an _ass_."

The waitress, bless her, played it off with a nervous laugh then asked them if they needed anything else. When Cuddy indicated they didn't, the woman left as quickly as possible.

Cuddy just shook head while House just watched her, grinning ear-to-ear.

"You're incorrigible," she said with a tolerant tone and smile.

"And this surprises you?" he countered, his smile turning into a look of mock incredulity as he tilted his head up and slightly to the side and cut his eyes back at her.

Cuddy felt like she'd been thrown back in time. That expression was one she knew so very well, like the others that had played across his face during their interaction. It was like no time had gone by, and yet it had.

The invigoration hadn't changed, though. There was something about going toe-to-toe with House, calling him to heel, and him … being _him_ in return. It gave her a rush. It always had, more often than not leaving her torn between strangling him and screwing his brains out.

The latter was foremost on her mind at the moment. Why the hell _he_ did it for her, she'd never understand — at least not fully. But God help her, he did.

"You know it doesn't," she replied and the words came out breathy, much to her irritation. She wasn't irritated at him, but herself. She'd already fallen into bed with him once today. That hadn't been wise, and she was sure a second time wouldn't be any wiser, but she couldn't deny she was thinking about it — and not just to satisfy her curiosity about the tattoo.

House was her addiction, as surely as Vicodin was his. It was time she was honest with herself about that and face the fact that her addiction was just as likely to hurt him as the drug. They were in dangerous territory and she'd taken them there. She'd hesitated, and so had he, but the pull to each other had overruled any good sense either of them possessed.

Cuddy would love to lay it all on the doorstep of grief and the need to comfort, but she knew that wasn't all there was to it. She and House had never come to terms with the ending of _them_. Things had just sort of stopped and they'd gone different directions — he to prison, her to Baltimore. Today was the first time they'd opened up Pandora's box, and things had admittedly gone smoother than she'd ever expected. Time and distance had clearly helped immensely, but she was keenly aware that their hearts were still very much involved … and vulnerable.

She saw that vulnerability in his eyes when neither of them said anything more. She suspected he knew her thoughts, probably shared them. Not to mention her worries.

The last thing Cuddy wanted to do was hurt him, or to be hurt. The potential of that was very high at the moment. She had no idea what things would look like in the morning when she would be driving back to Baltimore. She had no idea what his plans were or if he even had any. She didn't know what he expected, what she expected, what was right or wrong.

"Just let it be nice."

The words were her own but they came from him, a peace offering for the thoughts running riot in her brain. She wondered when their roles had changed. He had always been the one filled with doubt and plagued by the need to analyze everything to the point of insanity. But here she was doing it and he was talking her off the ledge with one sentence. Five words.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head with exasperation. "This is so bizarre."

"You mean you don't do this sort of thing every day?" he teased.

She couldn't help the small smile that emerged. "I'm scared, House."

He gave her a meaningful look, blue eyes completely serious, then picked up his spoon to begin eating, saying, "We'll figure it out."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

Figuring it out began after dinner as they walked back to their room. House was, surprisingly, the first to broach the subject. Cuddy looked up at him when he did.

"I have no expectations, Cuddy," he said flat out, his breath visible in the cold air. "I lost the right after…" As his voice trailed off, she felt him tug her closer to him.

"There's a lot of water under the bridge for us and we're both scared. We're standing in a virtual minefield," he continued. "Neither of us wants to hurt the other, or to be hurt. But this…"

He made a gesture with his hand, lifting it briefly from her shoulder then grasped onto her again and brought them both to a stop. He looked down at her, his gaze intense when it met hers. The sheer power of him washed over her and every part of her sparked to life under his watchful eyes. She listened intently when he continued speaking, knowing that for all his childish antics he was a man of unparalleled reasoning, with the ability to remain rational in the face of the irrational.

"This isn't the time to define it," he told her, his voice a soft rumble against the background of falling rain. "Whatever it means or doesn't mean, doesn't matter right now. It just _is_."

Cuddy held her breath as he leaned toward her. Her eyes fell shut at the gentle pressing of his lips to her brow and her heart skipped more than one beat, when he lingered and whispered, "I'm just grateful you're here."

It was a confession from the most vulnerable part of him and Cuddy treated it with the respect it was due, took it into her heart and held it there. It was a precious gift from this man in particular, who'd just addressed her fears in the way only he could.

Tears stinging her eyes, Cuddy leaned into the brush of his lips and rasping of his beard, whispering, "Me, too." It was her truth. She had no regrets about being here with him.

As if reading her thoughts, he whispered, "I have no regrets about making love with you, and feel no guilt whatsoever at wanting to do so again." The words were breathed against her skin and she trembled head to toe at the sensation and promise in them.

Shifting, Cuddy brought herself in front of him and reached for his face. Love flowed free through her when he bowed his head and leaned into her touch. The sight of his long lashes drifting closed on an infinitely slow blink as she caressed him did things to her heart.

"House." It was a whisper filled with a longing she wouldn't hide even if she could, that she didn't want to hide.

Her fingers tightening in the leather of his jacket, she turned her face up to him and sighed in relief when his mouth found hers. She melted into him when he braced himself against the awning pole and drew her to him with his left arm.

Desire rushed through her like the tide, leaving her practically boneless. She anchored herself to him and followed his lead when he tapered their kisses and steered them to the room.

Inside, the door closed, they took their time undressing, leisurely kissing and caressing along the way.

Shielded from the elements, his body was warmer than his face and hands. She savored the contrast and the way her body responded to the coolness of his fingers as they found her nipples, coining them until they were aching with the need spreading throughout her flesh. She kissed him with pure desire. She needed this, needed him and told him so.

He guided her down to the bed. The mattress was soft against her back. Then he was there, his body lowering over hers and she felt the glide of skin on skin. His skin. Her skin. The sensation was almost painful in its exquisiteness and she arched under him to prolong it.

She thought she might come apart when he skimmed his fingers down the line of her body, from her neck down to her ankle. She nearly did when he found his place between her thighs and slid into her.

"Oh God," she gasped and wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders.

She moved with him, eyes shut until he bade her open them. What she saw when she opened them took away what breath she had left. Blue eyes welling with infinite love and joy. _Joy. House._

"I love you."

He said it and she heard it.

"I love you," she echoed, taking his face into her hands and drawing him down.

He kissed her with everything she'd seen in his eyes and she met him equally, her mouth melding with his until she didn't know where they began or ended as individual beings. She caught up in him completely, lost herself under him and in the heady rhythm of his body moving above and in and out of hers.

This. _This._

"Don't stop," she pleaded when he pulled his mouth from hers.

"No," he rasped before burying his face in her neck and groaning her name with a need that came from some deep, deep part of him. He shuddered with it and continued to give her his body, again and again and again. He was relentless, just as she asked.

A hand sinking into his hair, she held to him when he guided her leg up and around his right hip, above his injury. He pushed deeper then and she gasped and knew…

"Cuddy." It was a hot plea against her ear.

"Yes," she answered and kissed the side of his head.

And that was all it took.

He came and she went with him, tandem moans ripped from their throats and echoing off the walls.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

Cuddy laughed out loud when she finally got a look at House's tattoo.

It was simple, just a couple words, but they were perfectly true and definitely something Wilson wouldn't feel the least bit guilty about sticking House with.

"I'm an…" was inked right there on his butt cheek. _I'm an ass._

"Like that, do you?" House asked.

He was laying on his side on the bed while she was leaning over him to peek at the marking. She glanced up at him with a thoroughly amused smile.

"It's perfect," she told him then on impulse, kissed it before laying back down beside him. She pulled the sheet up to her chest as she rested her head on his arm and met his gaze. He was smiling but she could see melancholy surfacing in his eyes and knew thoughts of Wilson were surfacing for him.

Reaching out, Cuddy laid her hand in the palm of House's, which rested on the bed beside. His mouth twitched, one corner curling up just a bit more when he laced their fingers. His attention flickered to their hands then back to her.

When he didn't say anything, she asked him if he was okay.

He answered with an incredibly familiar look of mischief. "Come here," he coaxed, curling his arm and urging her toward him. She turned onto her side but he wanted more, telling her, "I'm hungry."

"We just ate," she stated the obvious even as she raised up on her elbow.

"Yeah, but I didn't have dessert," he replied, pulling his face into a fake frown. He patted his chest and looked at her with puppy dog eyes. "Come on up here."

The corner of her mouth pulling up into a quirk of a smile, Cuddy shook her head at him even as she did what he requested. "You're a very bad man."

"Yeah, but you like me bad," he said as he helped her straddle his chest. As she settled, his eyes widened when he looked at her sex. He made a quick shake of his head, as if to clear his gaze, then looked at her again before exhaling an exaggerated "Wow."

Cuddy laughed softly. "I do seriously wonder how old you…" she began, only to moan when he lifted his head and showed her exactly how old he was "… are … oh … God … House."

That was the last conscious thought she had for a while as he set about making her completely incoherent. Her head falling back, she gripped the headboard with one hand and sank the fingers of the other into his hair and luxuriated in the pleasure he was clearly intent on providing. His deft tongue knew the what, when, and where of her very well and his memory didn't fail him.

She gasped and groaned, shifted forward to ease the strain in his neck. Feeling the end nearing, she looked down and found him watching her, his eyes so full of knowing of her. The intimacy that look communicated surpassed the physical act itself and sent her into rapturous abandon.

Sometime later, Cuddy realized she was laying on the bed again. House was spooned behind her, holding her. When she shifted a bit, he hugged her closer to him and shushed her gently, murmuring, "Sleep."

Unable to think of a reason not to, Cuddy closed her eyes and drifted into slumber. It held her for a while, but she couldn't say how long. When she awoke, House was no longer in the bed with her. She looked for him in the dark, glancing over her shoulder first to see if he was in the bathroom. Not seeing him there, she sought him out in front of her and found him sitting in the armchair. It took a moment for her to make out that he was watching her. His hand was on the table, cradling one of the plastic cups. It wasn't empty, but the bottle of scotch beside it held less than it had before.

"When the pain got bad…"

House's voice was soft but strained, barely audible but a veritable shout in the darkness from the very nature of what he was saying.

"…I ended it."

Tears welled and spilled and Cuddy felt a deep ache begin in her heart. For Wilson and what he'd endured. For the man in the shadows across from her who'd just confessed he'd eased the suffering of his dying friend.

Love. Mercy.

Not knowing what to say, Cuddy simply lifted the sheet and invited House back to bed. He came, limping the few steps necessary to join her. She spooned him this time and held onto him.

Feeling his tears fall to burn her upper arm, she acknowledged them with a whisper, "You loved him."

And with those words, he broke open. His whole body shook against hers as he wept. She cried with him, for him, every part of her keenly aware of the personal price he'd paid and the courage and strength he'd had to find in order to do it.

_And this is why Wilson reached out. _

He had to have asked House to do it and known in asking what it would cost his friend in the end. It was probably the most selfless thing House had ever done. It had definitely been an act of love.

House had loved Wilson unconditionally and of all the people in the world, Wilson had dared to return that love in kind. She'd say they were like brothers but to label their relationship as such would lessen what they were to each other. Friendship was something given, not required. It was a choice. It was a sacred acceptance of someone, faults and all. It was House and Wilson.

And now there was just House, without his anchor, having cut the tether himself. And he'd sat in this room alone for days, unsure if she would come.

_Dear God._

The walls of her heart closing in on themselves, Cuddy brushed a kiss to House's cheek and told him exactly what she thought of him in that moment. They were words she'd said before but wanted him to hear again. So she breathed them softly near his ear, tightening her embrace as she did.

"You are still the most incredible man I've ever known."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

"Hey, Cuddy, you'd better get out here."

Confused but not alarmed by his tone, Cuddy emerged from the bathroom to see what House wanted. He was sitting up in bed again and pointing to the TV.

"What?" she asked as she moved further into the room to get a look at the screen. It was the weather report. He turned up the volume for her and she frowned as she heard that road travel conditions to Baltimore were predicted to be highly dangerous in the morning.

"Damn," she muttered then went to get her phone from the bedside table. "I need to call Janice."

House turned down the volume when she dialed the nanny. "Hey, Janice, I just saw the weather report," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed, next to him.

_"Looks bad," _came the voice from the other end of the call.

"Yeah, I'd hoped to be back tomorrow afternoon, but it looks like I might be later. Can you still watch Rachel?" Cuddy asked.

_"Sure. I planned to when I saw the reports. And she's never any trouble."_

Cuddy smiled. Though she knew Rachel was a good child, it always made her feel good to hear others say it. "How is she?"

_"Great. She did her homework, had dinner and watched a cartoon before I put her down for the night. That was about a half-hour ago."_

"Good," Cuddy acknowledged. "I'll check the weather in the morning and plan accordingly. Will you tell her I'll call to talk to her before school?"

_"Absolutely. She'll be happy to talk to you. She missed you today." _

Cuddy felt a twinge of guilt. She'd had planned to put in a call before Rachel's bedtime but she'd been distracted by a certain someone who was looking at her right now in a way she could only describe as fond. _"_I've missed her, too," Cuddy said into the receiver then wished Janice a good night.

"Looks good on you," House said when disconnected the call, his fingers tugging on the hem of the shirt she wore. It was his Michigan sweatshirt.

She smiled at him. "You always like when I wear your clothes," she commented as she reached to put her phone back on the nightstand. He stopped her, though, his fingers lightly touching her arm.

"May I see a picture of her?"

The question was a tentative one, as if he was afraid she would deny him. Something about that broke her heart, and she knew she was a big part of the reason for his timidity. What he did aside, she had played the I'm-a-parent-and-need-to-protect-my-child card when breaking things off with him. As much as it was true in regards to a parent protecting their child, it had also been underhanded because she knew how House had felt about Rachel, and how Rachel had felt about House.

It was time to right that wrong and she did so now by unlocking her phone, bringing up the pictures.

"Of course," she said and handed the device to him. She watched a different sort of fondness envelop him as he looked at the first picture then flipped through others. He took his time between each one, really looking. He smiled when he came upon one of the little girl sitting at a piano, one tiny finger pressing down a key.

"She's beautiful," he said under his breath.

In that moment, every single compliment others had made about Rachel faded out of Cuddy's mind's eye, surrendering center stage to the one just uttered by the only man who'd truly been a part of her daughter's life.

"She is," Cuddy replied.

"Does she remember…?" He didn't look up at her when he asked, just continued to look at the pictures. Her heart broke a little more. For all his confidence in his medical abilities, House was desperately insecure about hosts of other things. But there was one thing that, in her opinion, he should never doubt was the impression he made on people, good or bad.

"Yes, she remembers you," she assured him, adding, "You're an impossible man to forget."

He glanced up at her and something about the way he looked both reassured and doubtful prompted her to tell him something she hadn't been sure she would before things had progressed throughout the day.

"She talks about you still," she said, smiling at him. "And she tries to sneak and watch that damned pirate show."

He smiled at that but frowned just as quickly. "Does she know?"

It wasn't really one question, but several in one: Did she know he had driven a car into their home? Did she know he'd gone to prison? Did she know that he'd "died"? Luckily, they all had the same answer.

She shook her head. "I didn't have the heart to tell her, about any of it. She was too young, and then…"

Cuddy paused, holding his gaze as memories of exactly how she'd reacted swamped her. She trembled with them, confessed, "I was a mess, House." Her voice was barely a whisper. "It took a week for me to get myself together enough to be ready to tell her." She smiled a bit then, recalling looking up from a chart to see Wilson standing there in the hallway at Johns Hopkins, a smile on his face that could only mean one thing. "But Wilson came," she continued, "He spared us both."

House's eyes were as red-rimmed as she imagined hers were. "I owe him more than I can repay," he said softly.

"We both do," she agreed, breathed unsteadily as grief crested, "He was the best of us, House."

House set her phone aside and drew her to him with a rasped "Yeah." He enfolded her in his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder. He just held her for while and she cried silent tears that only increased when he whispered so softly, "I'm glad she remembers me."

Her hand clutching at his shoulder, Cuddy nodded and replied with genuine joy.

"Me, too."


	16. Chapter 16

**Part 16**

Cuddy slept through the night, spooned with House. It was admittedly the best night's sleep she'd had in a long time, so she was loathe to rise from the warm cocoon beneath the blankets to check the weather report. The temptation to just fall back off to sleep was a strong one, but the call of parental responsibility was louder than her body's plea to rest a while longer.

Easing from beneath House's arm, Cuddy padded around the bed to find the TV remote. She turned the set on and quickly dialed the volume down so as not to wake her bedmate. She glanced down to see if he had stirred at all from the brief blast of noise, but he hadn't moved a muscle.

She sighed in relief, knowing he needed the rest and she needed some time to herself to figure out the weather situation and to call Rachel.

Turns out, traffic conditions were better than the weather analysts had initially predicted last night but still nowhere near ideal. Government offices in D.C. and in Baltimore were shut for the the first half of the day. That meant she could try to drive out, but had to weigh the drive time in current conditions against the window of relative safety they were expecting. It would be close, and that was only if the weather continued to clear.

Slipping into the bathroom, Cuddy called into work to find out what any colleagues could tell her only to find out that classes had been cancelled for the day, and the hospital ER was closed to trauma calls. A fellow endocrinologist who was on the overnight shift immediately cautioned her against making the drive today, saying she wouldn't risk it since warmer conditions were expected tomorrow. That was enough for Cuddy to decide to wait another day.

After ending the call to work, she dialed Rachel and caught up with her. She apologized for not making it home last night and that she wouldn't be home tonight. The little girl was disappointed but it couldn't be helped. Feeling guilty, Cuddy promised to bring her something back and made a note to see if local conditions were better so she could go out and find that something — and find House a new cane.

Once Cuddy had wished her daughter a good day at school, she spoke to Janice, letting the nanny know the situation. The young woman had already guessed and said she'd also keep an eye on the weather reports out of Baltimore to let Cuddy know if anything changed. Cuddy thanked her then terminated the call.

"Are you stuck with me for another day?"

The question was asked as she emerged from the bathroom and scared the crap out of her. She'd thought House was sound asleep. It reminded her of the time he'd hidden under her bed and grabbed her ankle when she got up. Why a grown man would do that, she didn't know. Why House had done it — it amused him.

"Dammit, House. I thought you were asleep."

He just smiled a sleepy smile but said nothing, obviously waiting for her to answer his question.

"Yes, I'm stuck with you," she told him as she set her phone on the nightstand again.

He lifted the covers and shifted over on the mattress, making room for her. "Then come back to bed."

With no reason to resist the earlier temptation of staying in bed, Cuddy accepted.

"How's your leg?" she asked as she cuddled up to him, carefully avoiding any abrupt contact with the injured limb.

"Achy, but I'll manage," he said then took a long, deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

Cuddy patted his chest and closed her eyes and told him to go back to sleep. He did and so did she.

It was around noon when they woke up, a heavy rumble of House's belly rousing them both from sleep. Cuddy gave a huff of a laugh and tilted her head up to look at him. He was smiling.

"Lunch?" he suggested.

"You buying?" she asked, teasing more than anything. The man rarely paid for a meal, usually sticking Wilson with the bill if he could get away with it — which had been often.

"Nope, you are," he said, making her smile at the utter predictability of his response.

She sat up, threw him an amused look. "Cheapskate."

"I'm technically dead so my funds are limited," he replied.

Cuddy pinned him with a worried gaze. She hadn't thought about that. Being "dead" would be problematic financially unless he had tons of cash stashed away, adopted a life of crime, or had a benefactor kind enough to make sure he had what he needed.

She doubted Wilson had left him empty-handed, but there was no telling how flush House was with funds at present or in the future. It wasn't as if he could just go out and get a job, or use a bank, or a host of other things. Identification was required for everything nowadays. He might be able to pick up some off-the-books work here and there, but nowhere near an amount anyone would consider an income, and definitely nothing like he made as a physician.

Frowning, she asked, "What sort of shape are you in?"

"Room's paid up through next week. I'll be okay for a while."

He was trying to sound nonchalant but Cuddy wasn't buying it. It wasn't really her business but she pressed for more information anyway because she gave a damn about him.

"Define 'a while'."

He just looked at her, the sharpness in his gaze telling her she was venturing into a territory he really didn't want to talk about. His lack of response irked her, though. It was serious. He had to eat, needed a roof over his head, clean clothes and medication to manage his pain. He said he'd wrecked his bike but she had no idea what sort of shape it was in. He needed a new cane…

Cuddy didn't bother to hide her irritation when she prodded, "House, it's time for brutal honesty. It's the only way things work with us."

When he still didn't answer, she stood up and began pacing the room, telling him her concerns, emphasizing the necessities. "You have to be able to eat. You need shelter, clean clothes, medicine…" Her voice trailed off as she started to think about how she could help him if he needed.

He brought her up short, though, with an emphatic, "Cuddy, you can't do it."

She stopped pacing and looked up at him. His eyes blazed with defiance like she hadn't seen in a long time.

"You can't help," he said.

Confused, she asked, "Why the hell not? If you need—"

He cut her off again, his gaze intently earnest. "Because you'd be an accessory after the fact. You have a kid and can't risk the consequences of aiding an abetting a man who falsified medical records and faked his death to keep from going back to prison."

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming. He had just again pointed out something else she hadn't thought about. Apparently her irresistible inclination to take care of him without question had obstructed her ability to think rationally.

Sighing in frustration, Cuddy dropped her hand and faced him straight on with a truth she couldn't escape. "House, I'm already an accessory. I've known for months that you were alive. Hell, I've fed you the last two days, tended to your medical needs, not to mention I've slept with you."

His gaze immediately projected fear and he gave voice as to why. "Do you regret that?"

"No," she replied softly with a shake of her head. She absolutely meant it. She didn't regret a single moment of what they'd shared.

He looked relieved then forged ahead in making his case against her assisting him.

"Look, only Wilson and I know that you were aware I'm still among the living. Burn the letter he gave you directing you to here. That gives you plausible deniability. And I won't say a word. Even if they put bamboo shoots under my fingernails or threaten to amputate my leg without my consent, not a soul will ever hear it from me," he declared with the same passion he pushed a medical diagnosis he believed in, his conviction undeniable and him immovable. There was no way he'd ever compromise her in this. The fact he mentioned his leg was proof enough of that for her.

"What about here? Witnesses? We haven't exactly locked ourselves in this room the entire time," she pointed out.

"There's nothing to legally trace you to this motel or the diner because the room is registered under an assumed name and unless my memory is faulty, you always pay for meals with cash."

Cuddy shouldn't have been surprised he'd noticed that but she was. Still, she couldn't take time to marvel at his uncanny abilities of observation because she was too worried about one thing in particular, a very important one thing.

"Okay, then what about your pain meds? How are you supposed to get those? Street drugs are not an answer," she stressed, fearing that's where he might turn. His history of doing crazy things to deal with the pain in his leg was a long and frightening one. She couldn't stand it if he went that route again. After all the abuse he'd put his body through over the years, it was a miracle he wasn't actually dead. She didn't know how she could help on that front, but she could try to find-

"Endocrinologists don't normally dispense high-dose pain relievers," he pointed out, interrupting her thoughts. There were times she could just scream at his ability to be so damned logical, like now, when he was impeding her desire to help. "That would be the worst thing you could do," he continued, "and you know it."

"House-"

"You can't do it, Cuddy. I won't let you." His tone was one of finality. "I won't take you down with me."

She looked him, startled by the wording. Did he mean…?

"You're going to turn yourself in?" she asked.

"Well, it's either that or find some exotic locale in a country that doesn't have an extradition treaty." The latter was said with a hint of humor, telling Cuddy he really was serious about the possibility of turning himself in.

"You want to go back to prison?"

"I would be certifiably insane to want to go back to prison," he responded.

She cut her eyes at him, said without an ounce of humor, "There's actually paperwork on that. In fact, your lawyer could have used that to get your sentence reduced."

"I didn't have a lawyer. I took a plea."

That shocked her. She hadn't known that. "Now I know you're insane."

"You've known that for years," he smirked.

"House, this is _not_ funny."

"Believe me, I know it's not," he said, his voice grave, his expression haunted when he added, "A crippled drug addict in prison is like playing pin the tail on the donkey without a blindfold."

Cuddy's heart sank. Guilt swamped her. She'd been so angry that she hadn't thought about what prison would be like for him. He wasn't a real criminal but the violence of the act he'd committed had probably landed him in a maximum security facility, with hard-core offenders. The thought of House, a man who saved lives that no one else could save, having been locked up with men who took lives made her shudder. She was just beginning to scold herself about not even bothering to find out when he ended her train of thoughts with a handful of words that struck her to her core.

"Cuddy, you didn't put me there. I did that."

Although she couldn't argue with that, she had been the one to press the charges against him, which had put him in that place. She could have withdrawn them but she'd just been so damned mad at him at the time. She'd wanted him punished, and he'd been punished.

"You should have had an attorney," she told him, dropping down onto the other bed.

"Well, I'm definitely going to need one this time around," he commented. "There's no way I walk on this one. I faked my death to avoid going back to finish my sentence, and I falsified medical records to cover it up. Pretty sure the judge and jury aren't going to like that."

"If I were to withdraw the original charges, it might help."

"Only a lawyer would be able to tell us that," he commented.

With a sigh, Cuddy leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees then burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what to do." The words were muffled.

"You go back to Baltimore," House stated plainly. "You go back to your job and your kid and leave the rest for me to sort out. This is my mess."

Head raising, Cuddy looked at him in startled wonder. Gregory House was taking total responsibility for his life. He actually wasn't going to run from it, or let someone else clean up after him. Over the years, she'd seen him come close to doing this, had gotten glimpses of the possibility of him doing this the way he was doing now, but she honestly hadn't thought she'd ever see the day.

"You won't run then? You _really_ are turning yourself in?"

He held her gaze. "Running is its own kind of prison," he said softly, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. If I stay in the country, I know I'll be caught eventually and I'm already in enough trouble. As it is, I will probably never be able to practice medicine again."

He emoted such sadness with those last words that Cuddy felt devastated. She again buried her head in her hands and let tears fall.

_No matter what he's done_, she thought, _the real crime in all this would be to stop him from doing what only he could do._


	17. Chapter 17

I just want to say thank everyone for their warm welcome to the House/Cuddy fan community. I am so very glad to hear you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it. Hopefully I have done and will continue to do them justice.

* * *

**Part 17**

Needing time to herself but unwilling to risk exposure to possible witnesses to her presence, Cuddy decided to take a long, hot bath.

She'd abruptly made the decision after her conversation with House, rising and heading to the bathroom without saying anything. He hadn't tried to follow her or comfort her, for which she was thankful. They needed a bit of space after that talk. It had been a difficult and painful one in which she'd had to accept that she was helpless to help him — and that he had refused to let her.

Over the years, he had either accepted it without question, taken it for granted or, if he had been feeling particularly belligerent or in a self-destructive mood, pushed her away and refused it outright.

Never, though, had he refused the way he had today. For her sake, not for his own or to punish himself in some fashion. But hers_._

This was a different man than she'd known in the past. While he was still House, he had just displayed a degree of maturity in his thinking and actions that she'd seen only on rare occasions. She was, frankly, stunned. She had never thought he'd fully grow up, that he'd always be one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys — albeit a brilliant, scruffy-bearded, surly, sexually charged, and acerbic one.

Clearly he had changed and Cuddy suspected Wilson's illness and death had been the catalyst. It made her wonder what had happened during their trek and Wilson's final days, and thankful for the journal. She hoped it held answers so she could better understand what she was experiencing with this new House and discover just how much he'd changed.

Leaning her head back against a rolled towel to brace her neck, Cuddy shut her eyes and let her body relax deeper into the fluid warmth around her. She smiled at the memory of the super-secret bath House had prepared for her that day in his apartment. God knew what he'd put in that water but it hadn't been all that soothing, except that he'd been in it with her, held her and talked with her.

Cuddy must have dozed for a while because she became suddenly aware of music coming from the other room. It wasn't coming from the television but was the sound of a single guitar being strummed, playing out a melancholic tune.

_House._

Over the years, she'd learned that music was a balm for him, as well as a form of emotional expression. If he was in a playful mood, the music was lively. If he was conflicted, it would be a mishmash of blues and jazz, even classical. If he was sad, the notes would be lonely and mournful — like now.

Listening, Cuddy realized how much she'd missed hearing him play — guitar or piano. He hadn't done it a lot when he'd been aware of her presence, but she'd sometimes heard him in the night, drawing sound from an instrument she could only admire but not play herself.

Sometimes, when they'd stayed at his place, she'd risen from bed and watched him from the shadows, studying the play of pure and honest emotions across his rugged features. He had so many barriers that it had been a secret joy to see him so unguarded about what he was feeling, to watch him pause from time to time to take a sip of scotch or water, whichever he was in the mood for in that moment, then go right back to playing as if he hadn't stopped at all.

One night he had done so and caught her watching him. He hadn't been startled or become defensive or shuttered himself away. Instead, he'd just set the glass down, played a few bars more on his piano, then risen and come to her.

Their lovemaking that night, in the middle of the night, had been so tender that she'd cried throughout it. He hadn't tried to console her with words, just kissed and caressed and held her, and she'd felt from him all he'd been projecting into the music. It had been a singularly beautiful moment in time that, when she thought on it, still brought tears to her eyes. And it did so now.

It made her want to go to him, so she did.

Rising slowly from the water, Cuddy silently toweled herself dry then quietly eased the door open and went into the other room.

House sat on the bed, his back to her, facing the window. His head was tilted back as if he were gazing upward, but his eyes were closed. She saw the same sadness in his face that she heard in the notes he was still coaxing from the guitar's strings.

Cuddy wished she could take that away sadness, even her own. There was so much pain between them. Wilson's death … their past … the uncertainty of their futures.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Cuddy went to him, moving quietly around the bed until she was standing in front of him. He drew out one last note before he looked up at her.

She could only look at him and saw the ache in him, one that had nothing to do with his leg and everything to do with his heart.

Seeing him hurt made her hurt. She reached out to touch his face, fingers grazing across his cheek. He took a breath then slowly set the guitar aside, reaching to lean it against the armchair, just a step away.

When he sat back again, his musician's fingers reached up to touch hers, the ones that held the towel around her. The light, skimming had her doing his silent bidding, releasing the damp material to fall to the floor.

She shivered at the coolness of the room then at feeling those fingertips touch more of her, grazing along her waist to her hips.

The room was so quiet that she heard only their breaths and the pounding of her heart.

Then he kissed her belly, soft lips pressing to her bath-warmed skin, moving across to her hip then over…

That kiss had her sliding her hands into his hair and holding him close, letting his tongue find its way to taste. But only for a moment.

She drew him slowly away from her and laid her hands on his shoulders, braced herself as she lowered to the floor, kneeling before him. He watched her so closely, his gaze at once readable and unreadable.

She slid her hands down over his chest to the waist of the jeans he'd donned while she was in the tub. The sound of the button being pushed from its hold was almost deafening. The rustle of fabric as she lowered the waist made her insides feel full of butterflies.

He lifted his hips and let her draw the jeans down and out of the way, then his underwear, exposing his erection. Freeing her hands from his clothing, she grasped him gently. He let out a rushed breath at her touch then whispered her name when she bowed and took him into her mouth.

A strangled sort of sound left him then, something halfway between a groan and a sob, and his hands made a brief caressing sweep of her back before sinking into her hair. He held her so gently in acceptance. The memory of what he liked and how he liked it was not out of reach. It was, in fact, right there from the moment she took him in and she used it to give him a respite. And to forget her own griefs for a while.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part 18**

_July 18, 2012_

_I tire easier now. Of course, that's probably true of most people my age. Even last year, I did not have the endurance that I had the five years previous, but this is different. It happens quickly and lingers long past when it should, and would if I didn't have this damned cancer._

_House… I hardly know what to make of him some days. In daytime, when we're out on the road, he is the man I've always known. Insanely so. At night or when he thinks I'm not looking, he is subdued, contemplative, and not in the way he is with one of his medical puzzles or when he's on a self-pitying bender._

_Over the years, I have cursed him for his selfishness and cowardice more times than I can count. But it's hard to do it now. He has abandoned his life and left behind the precious puzzles that had been his purpose for living so many years. There was a time when just avoiding prison would have been all the reason he needed to hit the road. But that is not why he did this. He would have taken his medicine had I not been handed a death sentence._

_No, House did this for me. He can't say he loves me. The words would be too painful and too real for him. He's not ready for that yet. It will take him time to find what he needs to say them, if he ever does. But I don't expect them any more. He has often said that actions mean more than words and I think I finally understand what he means._

_Everything we do is geared toward _my_ living the remainder of _my_ life to the fullest. I do that now. Tired as I am._

_A man of extremes, House has had times he's lived that way, so it comes more naturally to him. But I am learning. I know I should no longer be amazed at his ability to get me to do things I never would have before, but I am. He makes sure of it. The strip poker game a couple nights ago with the two busty bartenders comes to mind._

_He won, of course. The ass lost only his shirt, literally, while I lost mine figuratively, plus every stitch of clothing I was wearing. Then he'd left me to the women in our hotel room, while he spent the night in the backseat of the car staring up at the stars._

_House stargazing is … well, I've never known him to do that before. His thoughts, I believe, are on many things these days. I know I figure prominently in them. I can see it in him when he looks at me. But there are other things on his mind. Cuddy, I think, is one of them._

_I have trouble sleeping and I've watched him look for her in the night, more than once. He will reach his arm across the bed searching for her. I know it's her he's seeking because he says her name when he does it._

_I worry for him when I'm gone. He has burned his bridges with her and I'm not sure they are reparable. And he needs them to be._

_I know that I'm within my rights to think of no one but myself at this point. I am the one with a terminal diagnosis after all. But he is my friend and I don't want him to live the rest of his life in misery. It would be selfish considering how I begged him to let me live the rest of my mine on my own terms and not in the painful way too many of my patients have, sick and miserable, connected to IVs pumping poison into their veins in the desperate hope of one more week, month, or year._

_That is not the end I wanted for myself. It is not the end I want for my friend, no matter what suffering he might choose for himself or what would or could find him without someone to anchor him. _

_Self-sacrificing is not an adjective people would have ever accused House of being, even myself, but it hard for me to not associate it with him now._

_Whatever his sins, his mistakes, his general assery, House deserves some peace. He has hurt long enough. He has punished himself enough. And so have I._

_I owe him for this. For what he's done, for what he is doing, for what he will do in the days to come._

_And for what he will do for me when the time comes._


	19. Chapter 19

**Part 19**

Cuddy set aside Wilson's journal before her tears could fall and mar the words on the page.

She'd been reading for several hours, since House had drifted off to sleep after lunch.

She had smiled at Wilson's words, almost laughed aloud a few times, frowned at some of his innermost thoughts, and now she was crying quietly.

It wasn't easy to hear about Wilson enjoying life while knowing that the end had already come and gone, that she'd seen him buried little more than a day ago. He'd been such an integral part of her life for so long, as an employee, a colleague, a friend … an intractable bridge to House. Even in death he was that.

The journal was letting her see House through Wilson's eyes, the changes in him, the commitment to possibly the hardest thing he would ever do in his life. It was enlightening and provided some background on the changes she had seen in House.

Cuddy suspected further reading would provide even more insight and draw from her the same emotional reactions but she just couldn't read more right now. She was exhausted.

The earlier conversation with House and now the emotional roller coaster she'd been on while she'd read had left her with a need to rest. But even as she propped her elbow on the arm of the chair she occupied, leaned her head into hand and shut her eyes, her mind continued to digest what had been revealed.

The knowledge that House searched for her in the night had been unexpected, but it mirrored her own actions, how she'd sometimes reached for him only to find cold sheets and the pillow next to hers empty.

Cuddy didn't know why but she'd never considered that he might miss that. He had after all, married a green-card wife on the heels of their breakup.

While her bed had remained empty, he had filled his was a string of hookers and then the Ukrainian massage therapist. Cuddy, along with everyone else, had known the marriage was a sham, that he'd found an unimaginable way to hurt Cuddy and carried it out.

It had hurt more than she wanted to admit and it still did in some ways, but she honestly had no right to be angry at him over it. She was the one who'd cut him off. She was the one who'd left him alone with his pain. She had been unable to find the courage to fight for them. In fact, all she'd done was warn him he could be prosecuted for fraud if he added the woman to his insurance and didn't follow through with the marriage.

That had been her response.

Or at least what she'd let him see. Inside, she'd been miserable beyond words and cried more tears that she wanted to admit, even now.

At one point, during a brief, awkward conversation about a year ago, Cuddy remembered Wilson telling her that House was relatively happy with the woman, had grown fond of her and was making an effort despite it having started out as a marriage of convenience.

And yet, Wilson said in his journal that it was Cuddy who House looked for in the night, not Dominika. _Not Dominika._

Cuddy was vain enough to enjoy knowing that but felt ashamed that she did. The young woman had been willing to commit where Cuddy had run, which was nothing to be proud of. Cuddy had refused him the happiness he had really wanted, repeatedly, and denied herself the same in the process.

It made her consider that whatever wrongs he'd committed against her weren't nearly a grievous as what she'd done to both of them with that choice.

Looking at House slumbering now, Cuddy noted that his arm was currently cast across where she would usually be, where she'd often slept back when they'd been together, where she'd slept so peacefully last night.

Wilson's journal implied that it was where he thought she should be, and stated unequivocally that it's exactly where House wanted and needed her to be. If she was honest with herself, it was where she wanted to sleep again tonight.

Easing from the chair, she walked over to the bedside and looked at him closer. His brow was knitted as if he was hurting. She figured he probably was. He always hurt. His body. His heart.

He'd spent so much of his life as a walking, open wound, everything an irritant that caused him to seek out fringe means of stopping it. It had started with drugs and alcohol, then cutting himself to release counteracting endorphins. Then he'd injected himself with an experimental drug that caused tumors, prompting him to try to operate on himself to remove them. There had been other things, too. Too many things. Some of them had nearly killed him. She'd injected him with lifesaving drugs, made medical decisions for him, watched over him in the ICU and surgery, and even breathed the breath of life into his lungs.

She'd fought for his life so many times it made her heart ache. Every time had been agonizing. But when he'd needed her to fight for him most, she'd slammed the door in his face and crushed his heart. Even after he'd declared her more precious to him than the puzzles that Wilson had thought meant so much to him, and the lives he could save as a doctor.

_"If I had to choose between saving everyone or loving you and being happy, I choose you. I choose being happy with you. I will always choose you."_

That's what he'd said to her and remembering it now, after reading Wilson's words, it sank in what House been trying to tell her. It wasn't the words but the choice itself that he'd been trying to make her understand. He'd chosen pain. The man who had tried just about everything to end his pain, who had tried to avoid it with a single Vicodin had actually chosen the path of pain in committing to her.

_"Pain happens when you care. You can't love someone without making yourself open to their problems, their fears, and you're not willing to do that."_

That's what she'd said to him, and she'd been terribly wrong. He had been willing. He had taken the first step but she'd been so wrapped up in her disappointment at his not meeting her expectations that she hadn't recognized it for what it was — or realized he was giving her something even more precious than what she'd thought she wanted. She thought it had been something else, and she'd made him think it was something else.

_We weren't ready, House_, she thought. _Neither of us. We just weren't._

Tears slipping down her face, Cuddy laid down on the bed beside him. His eyes opened slowly when she sidled closer. He smiled at her and she smiled in return, through laden lashes. She welcomed the feel of his arm slipping around her and drawing her inexorably closer, until their legs tangled comfortably.

She kissed him then, softly, lips lingering just a moment before burying her face in the crook of his neck with a whispered "I'm sorry."

In response, he shushed her gently and rubbed her back until she fell asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

I want to again say thank you to everyone for their feedback. I appreciate hearing from you!

Now, onto the story...

* * *

**Part 20**

House surprised Cuddy with dinner. While she'd slept, he'd slipped out of the room and hobbled his way down to the diner and back. They'd eaten at the table then sat on the bed to watch a movie.

About twenty minutes into the film, though, Cuddy's thoughts drifted from the action on the screen to the man beside her. Her head was leaned on his shoulder and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his body as he breathed. It was innately comforting to be near him, to just _be_ with him. It had been like this with them before, sometimes.

Cuddy sighed with the contentment she felt.

"You okay?"

The question was asked with concern but she smiled.

"Yes," she answered and felt his hand coming to cover hers. She turned her palm up in welcome and laced their fingers. She tried to watch the rest of the film with him but didn't have much luck. As time ticked by, her thoughts invariably turned to her impending departure.

Earlier, the roadways to Baltimore had been declared essentially safe for travel, meaning she would be heading out fairly early. She was ready to go home to see her daughter, and yet not. She wanted to be here, too. It wasn't possible, though. She had to go so that he could do what he needed to do.

They hadn't really talked about that since their afternoon conversation, but she had some questions and took the chance to voice one of them during a commercial break.

"When will you do it?"

He anticipated the question, clarifying, "Turn myself in?"

She nodded and felt him take a deep breath. He muted the television and leaned his head against hers.

"Soon," he answered.

Cuddy wasn't surprised he didn't give her a more exact date. His commitment to protecting her would preclude him giving her many if any details about his plans. She approved of the approximate timing, though, imagining the court would be more likely to look on him favorably him if he turned himself in without delay.

"Good," she said softly then asked another question. "Will you let me know?"

A kiss was pressed against her brow. "Once it's safe." There was a pause, then, "When they tell you, you're going to have to act surprised."

"I know."

He lifted his head and she tilted her head against his shoulder and looked up at him when he added, "And angry."

"That will be harder."

She could tell he liked her response then teased. "I'll be sure and say something to land me in the annals of asshood."

Cuddy smiled. She had no doubt he could deliver on that front "That would help."

His eyes roved over her face in a caress. "I have missed you," he told her softly then emphasized, "I _will_ miss you."

Her heart fluttering, she replied with a breathy "Me, too."

His fingers touched her cheek and tipped up her chin. He bowed and pressed a kiss to her lips.

She hummed in happiness and watched him smile when he withdrew. She couldn't help but think that Wilson would be proud of them and that thought only made her happier.

"I remember the first time I saw you," House said softly.

"The college bookstore," she smiled at the memory. "You were a patronizing ass."

He shrugged. "I was flirting."

"I know that now. Then…"

He grinned. "You went out with me anyway."

"I was curious," she confessed. "All the girls on campus were swooning over the medical genius, la crosse all-star Greg House. I wanted a look for myself."

"You got one."

"Yes," Cuddy said, "I most definitely did."

She saw his gaze brighten with a naughty sort of mirth and knew he was about to say something that would either make her want to groan or laugh.

"Want another one?"

She laughed. His playfulness, when not a product of his being an ass, was something she'd always enjoyed. She was delighting in it at the moment, the mood so different than anything they'd shared so far.

Right now, their mutual sadness seemed far away and having no desire to stir it back to the surface, she played along with a teasing "Sure."

In response, he quickly sat up, stripped off his shirt, and tossed it away.

"More?" he prodded then, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

She rose to the occasion, shooting back, "Everything."

It was with a great degree of mystified delight that Cuddy watched him quickly move off the bed, stand and shuck his jeans. There wasn't an ounce of self-consciousness about his leg when he ditched the garment, leaving his scar on full display. He had other scars, too, and her eyes sought them out. The ones on his neck and his abdomen, from when he'd been shot in her hospital.

Silently, Cuddy rose onto her knees and moved across the mattress to him. She touched them both and felt the mood shift, playfulness giving way to a measure of uncertainty. She caught his gaze and held it as she just grazed her fingers over each.

He touched the back of her hand, stated softly, "A lot different than back then."

It was an honest assessment. Back then, his body had been taut with the suppleness of youth. He'd had the physique of an athlete. There'd been no scars, no gray hair, no lines around his eyes or mouth. _No scruffy beard_, she thought, as her fingers found their way up to skim through the whiskers along his jaw.

"Different," she nodded then looked into his eyes and gave him a gentle smile. "But still you," she whispered and watched his eyes fall shut when she cradled his cheek in her palm.

Every time he did that, she felt her heart flutter in her chest. _Every damned time._

Cuddy wondered if he had ever reacted that way to the touch of other women … Stacy … Dominika … and felt a stir of jealousy that she had no right to feel. But it was there, making her hope that he hadn't, that only she'd had this effect on him, that only she'd ever known this part of him.

"Only you."

The words were said softly but startled her, making her realize she'd given actual voice to her desires. The deep, icy blue of his eyes held nothing but sincerity when they fixed on her.

Embarrassment had her babbling. "House… I shouldn't have…"

He didn't laugh or smile or do anything that he might have done in the past to humiliate her. Instead, he just looked at her and spoke again with the same gentleness as he'd answered her question.

"Ask what you need to."

Cuddy could barely breathe, barely think, but the question was there anyway. It was one that had plagued her thoughts earlier and apparently had been laying in wait for a moment like this one because she asked it without any further thought.

"Did you love her?" _Dominika._

"No." Succinct. Truthful. Then unexpectedly, more. "I never slept with her."

The part of Cuddy that knew of House's womanizing history had a hard time believing it but she saw only sober honesty in his eyes and the lines of his face.

"Never?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Why?" Cuddy asked not so much confused as hopeful that the reason had something to do with her. She needed to know if…

He took her face in his hands, cutting off her train of thought. His brow knitted and his gaze sharpened, held hers captive when he responded, speaking as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And the answer took her breath away.

"Because I still loved you … Cuddy, I've never stopped loving you."


	21. Chapter 21

**Part 21**

The morning was going to be difficult. There was no way around it. Leaving was going to take a heavy toll and Cuddy was not looking forward to it.

The past forty-eight hours sequestered with the man who knew her best, loved her most, and whom she loved despite all the insanity of their past and soon-to-be future, had been fulfilling in ways she never could have imagined.

They'd comforted each other, reached out in need and in love and not been left wanting. It was so different than how things had been before. Perhaps it was the lack of distractions, the change in their roles in each other's life, the grief over losing a pivotal friend, or because they'd both changed and grown beyond who they had been back in Princeton. Maybe it was all of it. It probably was.

Cuddy didn't know where they would take things in the future, what kind of future they could even have with what he was facing, but she knew that she didn't want a life without him in it, however she could have him. She knew that she would never be able to walk away from him again, not like last time.

She might be able to get in the car tomorrow and drive back to her daughter and job in Baltimore, but her heart would remain with him. He'd secured that tonight with a declaration of love she hadn't asked for but so definitively that she had no doubts about it, or him, or herself.

She loved him. She'd never stopped loving him. She never would.

Gregory House was her one shot at happiness. He always had been and always would be. No other man would ever be able to make her feel what he did, ever challenge her the way he did or ignite her mind or passion the way he did.

Accepting anything or anyone else was settling, which is why every relationship she'd ever attempted with other men had failed. It's why she hadn't been able to marry Lucas or even commit to more than a few dates with others. Every one of them had fallen short in every way, often too accommodating or easy-going. She'd thought that was what she wanted — safe and normal — but her heart and mind had had different ideas. They'd latched onto a man who was damaged in more ways than she could count but who had the power to heal, not just sick patients, but her. And she hadn't even known she'd needed it.

Even as an addict, cynic, and egotistical ass of the first order, House was truly the most incredible man she'd ever known. Even after twenty-plus years of association, he still had the ability to surprise her, could still take her breath away, and motivate her to bring her best to the table, in every situation.

Whatever happened in the days to come, her heart would be his, just as it always had been. She would fight for him when the time came, do whatever she could to help his case. And she would fight for _them _if he wanted to give her another chance.

Thanks to Wilson's meddling, a foundation had been laid in this small New England inn. A stronger one, Cuddy believed, than they'd had before, one that could give them a fighting chance if they remembered what was important. She believed that this time they were ready, or could be. They were definitely headed in the right direction.

One thing Cuddy was determined to _not_ do was go into any kind of relationship with him with an exit strategy, as she had before. That was a recipe for failure and so were expectations, which is why she would do her best to check hers at the door. That would undoubtedly please her mother but Cuddy wasn't doing it for her. She was doing it for herself and House.

"You coming to bed?"

Smiling at the question, Cuddy told him she'd be right there. She finished brushing her teeth then switched off the bathroom light and made her way over to the bed and slid under the covers with him. He shut off the light then pulled her close, back against his body. She settled with a hum and found his hand at her waist, covered it with her own.

They lay quietly for a while before he broke the silence, asking, "What time do you plan to head out?"

"I was thinking around nine."

He took a deep breath then murmured, "Okay."

Cuddy could feel him relax behind her and knew sleep would take him soon.

Before he drifted off, she briefly considered asking him if he was willing to give her another chance, but the question would be an unfair one with his future up in the air.

It was highly unlikely he could avoid doing some amount of prison time. How long was the question? And where? Asking him to commit to anything at this point would only add stress he didn't need. He was worried enough about her as it was and needed to focus his energies on his own well-being for now.

That said, Cuddy knew what she wanted, right here, right now. If things were different, she would tell him that and they'd talk and decide what to do. But there were too many unknowns to have that conversation. Still, she could wish and hope ... and love him.

She told him that, her words mirroring his from earlier as she whispered them into the shadows. "I've never stopped loving you."

In response, he pulled her closer to him and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I know," he murmured against her skin without an once of smugness. There was a time it would have tinged each syllable and been followed by some smart-ass comment. But not now and she was glad for it. This wasn't the time for that sort of thing, and he clearly knew it.

Silence descended then and Cuddy listened to him breathe, the soft sounds eventually lulling her to dreams.


	22. Chapter 22

**Part 22**

A soft whisper in the early morning dark woke Cuddy from a deep sleep.

"One more time?"

It was a rumbling request for permission, spoken against her ear. Feeling House's dexterous fingers grazing along her thigh, she responded with a slow nod of her head. He kissed her cheek gently when she parted her thighs, giving him access to her sex.

His touch was gentle, almost delicate as he caressed her intimately. She looked at him and saw his eyes fixed on her face, watching her respond. It quickened her need.

She slid her hand down his arm, from shoulder to wrist, holding him against her when she began moving into his touch. He lowered and nuzzled into her neck, kissing softly along her neck to her breasts. He mouthed them, pulling her farther still from the grip of sleep and into a wave of sensual awakening.

God, she was going to miss this. His attentions and the tenderness. The mutual desire that came from more than just physical need.

When he raised over her again, she felt the sheet slip lower, to her hips. He watched her again as continued to coax her body. His glittering gaze fixed on her with a piercing clarity, asking her to give herself over to him, to the pleasure. She shivered from knowing he wanted her so much.

"For me?" he whispered and her body clenched around his fingers.

"Yes," she gasped and surrendered to the rush of sensation and emotions, a hand folding behind his neck when she came with a soft cry. _For him._

Then he was moving over her, finding his way into the cradle of her body. She welcomed him inside her with a soft moan. He reverently whispered her name while her body still trembled from release.

Cuddy clutched at him with both hands, fingers pressing hard into his back. She held to him as he rocked against her, not letting her truly come down but keeping her on a plateau of pleasure.

In silence broken only by the sounds of their bodies moving on the bed, he brushed soft kisses to her face and mouth. The love in them did something beautiful to her heart. It lifted in her chest, as if rising to find his. She went with it, pulling herself up to him, wanting closer, needing closer. Needing this and him.

"I need you," she told him and was kissed with a gentleness that reinforced the web of intimacy between them. It was a powerful place to be. She felt at home in it, with him. Her breaths blended with his when he lowered them both down to the bed. His hands found hers and their fingers laced when he confessed, "I will always need you."

She would always need him, too, but she couldn't say the words. She had no breath because he'd shifted and was moving deeper into her.

With a gasp, Cuddy wrapped her legs around his waist and invited him deeper still, wanting all of him. He did not hesitate to give her what she wanted. He sank fully into her with a moan of her name. There was more than pleasure in the sound.

Cuddy watched him as he watched her. She saw the gentleness in him that few would guess existed. She saw his desire and the all-encompassing need for love that he was always so afraid to show. She saw in him the same grief that she felt knowing what was going to happen in a few short hours. This was why he'd woken her.

"House..." she whispered and was kissed again, a brushing of his lips along the bridge of her nose then her mouth.

When he raised over her again, she saw _him, _an intoxicating combination of vulnerability and confidence that she could get drunk on for the rest of her life. And she saw his end coming.

Wanting that, wanting him, she beseeched him to let it come, to give himself over to it, just as she had, whispering, "Let go … for me."

He did, his eyes falling shut as he wordlessly gave up his seed to her womb.

_Where it is supposed to be._

The thought rushed through Cuddy unbidden and had her pulling her hands from his and taking hold of his face, pleading for him to look at her as she quickly began to unravel beneath him.

She saw joy flood his blue eyes when she broke open and called out to him, an endearment falling from her tongue in a breathy gasp. It was one she'd never bestowed on him, or any other man, but the rightness of it in that moment shattered her once more.

"My love."

Later, their bodies cooling, he asked her a question, his brow knitted slightly.

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes," she whispered. It wasn't a difficult question to answer, even if she felt somewhat shy about having said it. The closest they came to actual endearments was calling each other by their last names, something most people would probably find odd but was utterly natural for them. So this meant something. It had exposed her innermost feelings about him. She didn't blame him for asking, though. Her past decisions would leave the door open for doubt.

Her answer seemed to alleviate that for him, the drawing of his brows easing and a slight smile sliding across the line of his mouth.

Cuddy loved looking at his face. He was always so expressive, but never more so than when his guard was down. She reached a hand and touched his cheek, as she had earlier, and he again blinked slowly. God, she loved that. He looked comforted.

"We should get some more sleep," he told her even though she could tell it was the last thing he wanted to say. "You have a long drive ahead of you."

"Not too long," she replied. If road conditions and traffic were optimal, she would be home in about four hours.

"Long enough," he countered.

She smiled at him then grew serious, asking him about something that had troubled her since yesterday.

"Are you going to give up medicine?"

His tone was subdued when he answered, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and resignation.

"I may not have a choice."

She nodded in understanding. The verdict on that was out of his hands and farther down the road, but she truly hated the thought of him not being able to be a doctor. He had a rare gift that should not be locked away, no matter what he'd done. The world needed doctors capable of what he could do. It's why she'd given him a job when no one else would hire him, why she'd created a special department just to utilize his skills in her hospital.

"Promise me you'll fight for it if it's what you want," she said, her hand sliding down to his chest. "Don't let them just take it from you."

She thought he might ask a question in return but he didn't. He just nodded, replied, "Okay."

The answer made her happy, almost as happy as she felt knowing he loved her still. She smiled at him, and drew her thumb across his skin, above his heart.

"Good," she whispered, then leaned in and kissed him until want and need overtook them once more.


	23. Chapter 23

**Part 23**

Eight o'clock came entirely too early for Lisa Cuddy.

It wasn't that she was tired from spending the last several hours losing herself in Gregory House but that she was about to leave him behind to face alone the frightening prospects of his future. She wasn't keen on not being able to help him somehow, or being in the dark until he determined it safe, but she had little choice.

Her wardrobe limited, Cuddy had dressed again in the suit she'd worn to Wilson's funeral and was now packing his journal in her overnight bag. She hadn't read any more since the previous day but was sure she'd find herself picking it up again. It would soon be her only connection to House — at least for the time being.

As Cuddy prepared to zip up the bag, House's gray Michigan sweatshirt suddenly came into her line of sight. She took it from House's hand, a wistful smile emerging. She glanced up with a soft "thank you" while she blindly tucked the garment into the bag.

He just smiled at her then picked up the bag once she'd zipped it closed.

"You need a cane?" she commented unnecessarily as she watched him limp awkwardly across the room.

"I'll get one," he told her as he dropped the bag into the armchair by the door.

Catching up with him, Cuddy looked at him just a moment then eased her arms around him. He mirrored her actions and pulled her close. They stood that way for a long time, just holding onto each other. Cuddy could feel the tension in him and knew he could feel it in her. Neither of them was ready for this moment, but it had arrived and they had to face it.

"I'm sorry about Wilson," she told him.

He didn't say anything in response, but she felt him swallow heavily when he tightened his embrace. After a moment, he gently moved back from her, not far, just enough to look at her. He caught her left hand in his when she slowly lowered her arms.

"Thank you for coming."

It was said softly and with deep sincerity.

Returning his grip tightly, she whispered, "I'm glad I did."

A hint of a smile settled in the corners of his mouth then vanished when he looked at her with an intensity that nearly made her dizzy.

"I love you."

Cuddy trembled at hearing the words stated so resolutely, without fear or uncertainty.

"I love you," she declared in return, as sure as he in the truth of the words.

He leaned in then and kissed her, first her mouth and then her brow. He lingered there with a murmured "Drive safe."

Unable to help herself, Cuddy leaned into the touch of his mouth and grasped onto his upper arms to steady herself. She felt like crying. Her eyes stung with the beginnings of tears and a lump settled in her throat. Her heart felt like it was trapped in a vice.

"I need to go," she heard herself saying, the words more of a reminder to herself than an explanation to him. There hadn't been much conviction in her voice.

"I know."

Easing back, Cuddy looked up at him. "Let me know…"

"I will."

Her heart thudding in her chest, Cuddy reached up and caressed his cheek before pushing up onto her toes and kissing him once more. She kept it a quick but soft pressing of her lips to his because she didn't dare linger.

Lowering, she dropped her hand to his chest and patted him gently, watching herself touch his body. She wanted to tell him "goodbye" but couldn't force the word out. She wanted to look at him again and let her eyes do it for her, but she couldn't risk it. If she looked, they would probably wind up back in bed, which would only make them revisit this moment again.

"Cuddy…"

Pain saturated the two syllables of her name and even though she knew she shouldn't, she did look up at him. Her heart clenched at seeing the sadness in his eyes, and at how lost he looked, again. She wanted to do something to ease him but was helpless because she didn't know how to ease those things in herself.

Two days were not enough. They would never be enough.

"I'm stuck, House," she whispered. The words were ones she'd spoken to him before, as he sat on his bathroom floor holding a Vicodin bottle and weighing whether or not to toss sobriety to the wind to ease his emotional pain. They were as true now as they were then. She didn't know how to move from where she stood.

In response, he eased an arm back around her and drew her into his chest.

"You can do this," he told her as he propped his chin against the top of her head. "You have to do this. The kid needs you."

Cuddy knew he was right. He was always right. Rachel did need her. She wished she could tell her daughter about House but instead told him, "I'll let her watch those damned pirates."

A silent laugh shook his chest and Cuddy felt it.

"You are a _totally_ _awesome_ mother," he quipped in that surfer voice he often used to great affect with the young doctors who'd been on his team at Princeton-Plainsboro — and sometimes patients. But he was not mocking or goading her, just attempting to inject some levity into the moment, which they desperately needed.

Appreciating his effort, Cuddy accepted it in the way he intended and laughed softly. She wrapped her arms around his waist again and hugged him tightly for several long moments. When she eventually released him, he let her go without protest.

She caught his gaze again and somehow managed to contain her composure long enough to say a goodbye of sorts.

"Take care of yourself."

For a moment or two, he said nothing and she saw that he knew this was the moment they'd been dreading. He accepted it, though, with maturity and grace, and a soft goodbye of his own.

"Be safe."

Unwilling to subject either of them any further to the agony of their parting, Cuddy cast him one last smile then picked up her bag and left.


	24. Chapter 24

**Part 24**

Lisa Cuddy couldn't sleep.

It wasn't a new development. She'd experienced a varying severity of insomnia in the last week, since leaving Gregory House alone in a motel room in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Worry was the biggest culprit. Not knowing what was happening was driving her mad. She also missed him.

Since returning home, Cuddy had called her mother and sister in an effort to reignite the anger she'd felt for him two years ago, testing to see if the feelings that emerged in those couple days with him were a fleeting thing or if they were going to stick around.

Just the mention of House, even though it had been indirect and in relation to Wilson, had set off both her relatives. It had resulted in profanity-laced curses from her sister and yiddish-punctuated rants from her mother.

But Cuddy's ire hadn't risen to the occasion. She hadn't been able to muster up anger of any degree in regards to House. If anything, she'd wanted to defend him in some way - not his past actions but to point out that he had changed and that if she could forgive him, they should at least try. But since she couldn't do that, Cuddy had held her tongue and avoided agreeing with anything they said.

It had been more difficult with Rachel. The little girl had known Cuddy was going to Wilson's funeral so when she'd come home, Rachel had asked her if she'd seen House and if he was going to visit.

Cuddy hadn't lied to her, but she hadn't answered the questions either. Instead, she'd given "the kid," as House called her, a doll she'd picked up at a shop on the way home. Cuddy had felt bad about that, but she'd had no choice. Rachel was a child and children tended to share things they heard without thinking. Cuddy couldn't risk that happening.

So, alone with her secret, she'd tried to sleep at night — and been more unsuccessful than successful.

Tonight was one of the unsuccessful ones. She'd gone to bed hours ago only to toss and turn. Tiring of that, she'd found her way to the living room with Wilson's journal. There, she'd curled into the corner of the sofa and read several entries by lamplight.

She'd learned about more of his escapades with House. She'd winced when she read of House trying to hike a mountain with him. It hadn't gone well, which wasn't really surprising considering his leg, but he'd gone, hobbled his way up a bit at a time until he simply couldn't go on. The fact House had tried had touched Wilson immensely.

_The Greg House of my past never would have done this for anyone. His pain has always superseded others' — until now. That he has tried means more to me than I think he will ever fully comprehend. He is changing._

Cuddy had seen that change in House already. During their two days together, he had not once spoken of his pain. It had been there, both physical and emotional, but he hadn't complained about it. He hadn't even lashed out with it or promoted it as the sum-total of his existence.

For years, Cuddy had watched him use his pain as a justification for living in misery, taking drugs, and doing all sorts of self-destructive crap, not to mention an excuse for how horribly he sometimes treated others.

House could be a royal ass on a good day, hammering his team, patients, her and Wilson with snide quips and general insults. It was annoying at best, infuriating at worst, but it hadn't come out of his pain. That was House being House, pushing boundaries and everyone to give their best and think outside the box. Or in the case of her and Wilson, to engage them in something akin to a playground game.

No, the really hurtful stuff … the cuts to the quick that provoked tears instead of eye-rolling and sarcasm … those came out of his pain.

As his doctor, Cuddy knew that pain could never be quantified. She'd been the one to tell the doctors to cut out the dying muscle and known the whole while that he was being condemned to a life of pain and painkillers. Not to mention joint and muscle stiffness, and a need for an assistive device to walk — a cruel sentence for an active and athletic man.

Having worked with him for years and lived with him for a time, Cuddy had witnessed his pain firsthand. She knew there were times it was tolerable and manageable and those were the days he was silly, full of piss and vinegar, and usually on a mission to drive her right up the wall with some juvenile prank. On the really bad days, he was barely able to get out of bed, bathe and dress himself. He brooded then, was depressed and angry, and most likely to do something extreme for relief. Ironically, it was the in-between times that were the worst for those around him. He would be irritable and quick to lash out, and go for the emotional sucker punch if the situation presented itself.

She'd taken a few of those, and they painful — probably comparable to the pain he'd been in when he took the swing.

The problem is most people misunderstood House. They blamed all his antisocial behavior on the physical pain he dealt with daily. Cuddy knew there was more to it. His past, prior to the infarction, had been fraught with another kind of pain — emotional and physical abuse and neglect.

After having met his parents years ago, Cuddy had discovered the reason he kept people at a distance and insisted that actions meant more than words. His prick of a father had treated him with disdain and his mother who, even though she loved House, had made excuses for the abuse. That was a perfect storm for psychological issues and Cuddy had witnessed evidence of it for years.

There was a reason House drew attention to his pain. He had a desperate need for people to know he was hurting, to see and acknowledge his pain because, as a child, his suffering had been marginalized. His hurt had been ignored.

Cuddy knew him well enough to know that he'd never sought counseling to help deal with that part of his life — at least not willingly. His stint in Mayfield had pointed to at least some of it being discussed with his psychiatrist. It probably explained the changes in him after he'd returned to the hospital.

He hadn't stopped being House, of course, but some of those sharp edges had been smoothed. He'd been _softer_ with her, which she now realized had been his way of getting closer, testing the waters, and ultimately wooing her. He'd been openly vulnerable with her at times and surprisingly, with the patient during the crane collapse in Trenton.

He'd completely disarmed Cuddy that night. He'd been humbly honest with himself and about himself, in front of her as well as the young woman trapped in the rubble. He'd done an exceptionally hard thing for anyone to do but for him … with his history, his leg … he'd done what she'd thought impossible.

In those few moments with him under the crumbling slabs of concrete, Cuddy had come face to face with the fact that she loved him, despite having declared she didn't just a while earlier.

Having finally seen House, really seen _him_, there'd been no way she could marry Lucas. She'd driven straight home after clearing the scene of victims and ended the engagement. Then she'd sought out House.

That day, Cuddy had found the courage to take a chance with him and discovered something infinitely beautiful in the early morning light. She grieved her missteps, and his, that had caused them to lose it, but also rejoiced in having found it again just a week ago.

Whatever came, Cuddy would always be grateful for the hours she'd spent with him in that roadside motel in northern Pennsylvania. She would be grateful to Wilson for sending her there, and to House for … all of it.

With a sigh that expressed something between happiness and loneliness, Cuddy glanced at the clock. _Three o'clock. _Much as she thought it futile, she knew she had to at least try to get in a couple hours of sleep.

Closing up the journal, Cuddy rose, switched off the lamp, and headed toward her bedroom. Halfway down the hall, something fell from the book. She stopped to pick it up and carried it with her. She switched the bedside lamp on and looked at the piece of paper, perplexed.

It was a business card — for an attorney.

Cuddy flipped it over and glanced at the back. There were words written there, by Wilson. They were pointing her in yet another direction.

_"Call the number and give him your name."_


	25. Chapter 25

Again, many, many thanks for all your feedback. I am simply overwhelmed with the response to the story. Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

**Part 25**

For the second time in less than a month, someone had handed Cuddy an envelope from James Wilson.

The Baltimore attorney whose business card had fallen out of Wilson's journal had told her that Wilson sent it to him just after days after the death of Greg House, and requested it to be delivered to her after Wilson's own. That meant it had been written before he'd known House was alive.

The envelope contained a note from Wilson:

_Lisa,_

_With death waiting in the wings for me, I am handing over my practice to my colleagues at the hospital and preparing to live life to the fullest in the time I have left._

_That's why I'm hoping you'll forgive me for what I'm about to do. Believe me, I did not make the decision lightly to send you this letter and its contents, but I honestly didn't know what else to do._

_House has checked out on me when I need him most, which I know you understand better than anyone. In doing so, he's left me with yet another mess of his to clean up — namely his possessions._

_His mother is his sole beneficiary but she has declined to take them. I think they are too painful for her to see. She has asked me to dispose of them so I've taken possession of them in exchange for paying for his funeral, which makes some sort of twisted sense considering his penchant for spending my money instead of his own. But I honestly just couldn't see myself benefitting from the sale of his personal things, and even with my impending departure, I know I'm not ready get rid of them. _

_If House were here, he'd accuse me of being overly sentimental and caring too much. And he'd be right. He was always right about me._

_But I worry that Blythe may change her mind some day and want them and I don't won't her to grieve again at having let those parts of him go too soon. It's for that reason that I've stored them and am giving you this key to the unit. _

_It is a climate-controlled facility to protect his piano and guitars, and the vintage vinyl. It is paid up for the next five years so you won't be burdened with an expense and you never have to open it._

_I know you may not want the responsibility of it, and I understand if you want to just hand the key off to Blythe now, but I think she just doesn't want to think about it and needs time, which I don't have._

_I know the pain he caused you and I don't mean to stir the feelings anew. I'm angry at him, too, over a lot of things. He was a selfish bastard to the end. But his mother deserves the chance to grieve before making such a final choice._

_So, if only for me, keep them safe for a while and let her grief settle. If she still doesn't want it, then do what you see fit._

_Your friend,_

_James_

Standing outside the unit in the self-storage facility, key in hand, Cuddy was unsure if she should open it. Many memories waited behind the big, gray steel doors in front of her. A part of her wanted to experience them but another feared being overwhelmed in the face of her rekindled love for him and the uncertainty of his future.

Cuddy debated what to do for many long minutes before she talked herself into looking, if for no reason than to check the conditions of the contents, and to make sure they were still there.

Thefts from such facilities were not unheard of, even from staff, and House's things were of significant value, which could make them a target of the unscrupulous. Cuddy had no reason to believe anything had happened, the attendant who'd guided her to the unit seemed nice enough, but even the remote possibility that his possessions had been violated or pilfered was enough of an excuse for her to face her fears.

Stepping forward, Cuddy inserted the key into the lock and turned it. She closed her eyes as an intensely familiar scent rushed out and over her.

_House._

Cuddy had always thought it fascinating how material things could absorb the smell of their owner and remain for years. In this case it had been only months, so the scent was still strong. Leather, paper, wood, aftershave…

Eyes opening, Cuddy stepped inside and did a visual survey. She saw his piano in the back corner. His guitars were there, in their cases and … _oh God_ … his clothing hung on a rack just inside the door. His tee shirts were there, his jeans and jackets, and an insane number of athletic shoes in a box beneath. His dresser was there and memory supplied her with what each drawer contained. And there, too, was a collection canes poking up out of an umbrella holder. He'd kept so many…

Cuddy eased into the room, further into this strange room full of wonderfully familiar things. House's let her fingers and gaze drift over his clothing, stirring anew the smell of him. It swirled around her, sparking memories of the days and nights they'd spent together as friends, lovers, and sometimes professional adversaries.

He'd been such a huge part of her life for a long time, so long that she had trouble remembering when he hadn't been a part of it. Even when they hadn't been together, he'd been in her thoughts in some form or fashion.

The decidedly vivid memory of a one-night stand in Michigan had surfaced more times than she could count in the years between that day and her recruiting him for Princeton-Plainsboro. And, even though she'd moved on with her life in the last two years, recollections of the months they'd spent together as lovers had haunted her. And now there were other, new memories to join the chorus.

It was singing loudly as she eased farther into the room, her hand dropping away from the clothes to reach and graze over the curved handle of one of his more plain-looking canes.

Cuddy wondered if he'd gotten a new one. She wondered if he knew Wilson had kept his things. She wondered what he'd think if he knew she was here among them, thinking of and longing for him. She wondered where he was and what he was doing.

Turning to scan the room again, Cuddy wondered how long it would be until she saw him again.


	26. Chapter 26

**Part 26**

Cuddy gripped the edge of the window sill in her office at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. She wasn't looking outside, however. She'd had to turn her back on the other occupant in the room — Stacy Warner — at learning that House had turned himself in to authorities.

She couldn't say she was entirely surprised that House went to Stacy for legal representation. If there was anyone who would be willing to passionately advocate for House in all this, it was her. Even though she was married, Cuddy knew Stacy also still cared for, even loved, House — a part of her always would. Cuddy understood that well. It was impossible to forget him or the impression he left in your life, especially on your heart. It was akin to having been branded.

Cuddy felt it burning on her own heart at the moment. She was relieved that House had turned himself in, but now the really hard part was beginning. She was going to have to essentially lie to a friend. She had to pretend to be angry, which was going to be difficult until he delivered upon his annals-of-asshood promise.

Right now, Cuddy was just trying to act shocked, surprised, anything that wouldn't let on that she'd already known he wasn't dead. She must have been doing a pretty good job because Stacy was already trying to calm her down.

"I know this is a shock. I can only imagine what you're feeling right now," Stacy was saying. "I know what I felt when he walked into my office. I didn't know whether to kill him or hug him."

"So which did you do?" Cuddy asked and didn't like the tiny note of jealousy she thought she heard in the question.

Stacy apparently didn't hear it, or at least she didn't react to it. "A hug," the tall brunette said, "Then I punched him in the arm."

Cuddy fought a smile. Somehow, she could see that playing out exactly as Stacy described. Stacy had always given as good as she got when it came to House.

_They would probably still be together had he not had the infarction_, Cuddy thought. _And even if he hadn't pushed her away so vehemently afterward._

Cuddy wasn't really thankful for either event, but she knew she probably owed the progression of her relationship with House to the traumatic event and his reaction in the wake. Where he'd pushed Stacy away, he'd pulled her closer, slowly but surely over the years, and now confessed, Cuddy believed truthfully, that even Stacy hadn't affected them the way she did.

One thing Cuddy could honestly be thankful for was Wilson having come to her early on to let her know House was alive. It had made seeing him in person the first time easier, even if her first reaction to laying eyes on him was to slap the crap out of him.

"… but he's asking to see you," Stacy was saying, the words immediately wresting Cuddy from her thoughts and into the present, "I will completely understand if you decline — and so will he. He's changed, Lisa. This crazy trip with Wilson…"

Cuddy knew House had changed. She'd become more convinced of it in the last couple of weeks as she reflected on their time together after Wilson's funeral, and from what she'd been reading in Wilson's journal. The leather-bound book had documented a slow transformation of House, the better parts of himself emerging as he focused on helping his best friend transition to death.

Cuddy knew why House wanted to see her, too. Or at least she thought she had until Stacy dropped a bomb on her that she hadn't expected.

"He needs to see a doctor and he said you're the only one he trusts."

Scowling, Cuddy turned to look at Stacy for the first time since she'd said the words "Greg is alive."

"What's wrong with him?"

Stacy sighed. "He had some sort of wreck on his bike, then he fell in lockup and aggravated the injury. He won't let the jail doctors touch him and has refused transportation to a hospital for treatment."

Cuddy frowned in earnest now. She'd known about the bike wreck, but he should have been doing better by now. Something must have happened beyond a run-of-the-mill fall or, it really had gotten worse on his own, which would mean he hadn't been taking care of himself.

Unable to help herself, Cuddy asked, "Did he fall or did he piss someone off?"

At the moment, anger was rising in her at just the thought he might have neglected his health after she left. It definitely wouldn't be the first time he'd done so and, as much as she hated to admit it, she hoped it was the latter, not the former. Because then she really would be pissed off.

Only way to find out, though, would be to go see him. But Cuddy couldn't just jump at the chance. She needed to make sure Stacy was convinced she'd been ignorant of House's "living" status until the lawyer had walked in the door, disliking but understanding that need for deception. So she waited for Stacy's answer.

"He's not saying, but I suspect he had _help_."

Cuddy noted the concern in Stacy's words and tone, and she sighed in both relief and worry. It came out as an exasperated sound, which was pretty much what she felt at the moment. She was glad he hadn't disregarded his health but also worried. He might be tall and a mental giant amongst his cellmates, but she'd seen him punched enough times over the years to know he was at a severe disadvantage against anyone with agility.

"Why does he think I'd come?" Cuddy asked.

A hint of knowing and almost wistful smile ghosted across Stacy's smile. Cuddy knew why when Stacy replied, "He said your hippocratic oath and innate sense of guilt wouldn't let you just ignore him."

That was House. Right as usual, goddamned brilliant, _and an ass_.

But Cuddy had known that for years. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have said in the past to tease her, the equivalent of pulling her pigtails, if she'd had any, or to express his anger at some decision she'd made, or to get what he wanted.

Right now, it was making good on a promise and though it wasn't quite worthy of the "annals of asshood," it was enough to give Cuddy reason to grant his request without suspicion. She was a doctor after all, his doctor.

Hand on her hip, Cuddy looked away from Stacy and bit her lip. The attorney apparently interpreted it as irritation and Cuddy did nothing to disabuse her of the notion.

"I know he's a jerk, Lisa, and you owe him nothing after what he did to you," she said. "But he needs help and you're the only one he'll let near him, medically speaking."

Stacy paused a moment then added, "I honestly think he's hurting worse than he's letting on and the doctors aren't really taking him seriously since he won't let them even examine him."

Okay, now Cuddy was starting to feel pissed again. He might not be outright neglecting himself, but hiding the severity of an injury definitely fell into the "self-destructive" category. And his faith in her didn't entirely negate that for Cuddy.

Her arm dropping to her side, Cuddy faced Stacy again and let irritation saturate her words.

"Where is he?"


	27. Chapter 27

**Part 27**

_He does not look well._

That was the first thought to cross Cuddy's mind when she got her first look at House in the infirmary at Princeton Borough jail.

He looked pale and on the verge of being all-out diaphoretic. The facility's doctors may have dismissed the signs and thought him faking but Cuddy saw them immediately. The pain was etched in the lines of his face and in the grim set of his mouth, though that eased just the tiniest bit at the sight of her.

Moving forward, slightly behind and to the side of Stacy, Cuddy silently took the proffered stethoscope from the nurse as they passed and went immediately to him. She didn't speak and neither did he as she put on the medical instrument and went to work.

Cuddy listened to his heart and breathing. Both were accelerated, but she's not sure the doctors would have noticed that. She was highly attuned to him, knew his body at rest, in exertion, and in distress. Her ears did not miss the signs of the latter.

Taking the ear tips out and settling the stethoscope around her neck, she looked down at his leg and spoke for the first time. "Let me see."

"I'd rather not do this with an audience," he said and she heard the plea in it. That sensitivity about the appearance of his leg never seemed to wane, unless he was alone with her.

At his words, Cuddy heard Stacy move away and ask for a measure of privacy. She glanced up to see the infirmary staff and the guards back off a ways, and even Stacy kept her distance.

Once he seemed satisfied, he gingerly eased down from the exam table and unbuttoned the jail-issued, yellow jumpsuit. He wore a t-shirt and a pair of — _dear God —_ white briefs. Cuddy thought that particular style of men's undergarments should be rendered extinct. They flattered no one.

Catching onto her train of thought, he said under his breath, both annoyed and amused, "Not exactly my usual style."

Cuddy had to conceal her smile, but her efforts weren't needed for long when she got a look at his leg.

"Jesus Christ."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" he threw out sarcastically.

Cuddy looked up at him with an honest glare even if he was putting on an act — or not.

"Get up on the table," she ordered

He did, after sliding on the medical gown, front open. She noted the slowness of his movements and saw the grimace he made when he placed his palms onto the exam table and pushed himself up onto the paper-covered surface.

Cuddy glanced up at the medical staff. "Do you stock ketorolac?"

The doctor, who she assumed was in charge, who stepped forward shook his head. "No, but we do have vicodin," said the balding man. He looked to be around sixty.

House protested immediately, with a sharp "No."

Cuddy met his gaze in understanding, glanced back to the other physician. "What's the strongest non-opioid, non-narcotic you have."

"We've been giving him ibuprofen."

"What dosage?"

"400 milligrams every 4 hours."

Cuddy shook her head. "That's nowhere near adequate."

Looking back to House, she asked him a question she suspected she already knew the answer to. "Did you tell them what you needed?"

"Yeah, but these _gifts to the medical profession_," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "Thought I was _faking_."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as she considered what Stacy had told her about him not letting the doctors do an examination. Still, she asked, "Did you show them?"

He actually looked cowed, for House, just the slightest bit, but still managed to offer up a trademark dose of condescension, which he immediately followed up with a measure of earnestness, which he directed toward her.

"They missed diaphoresis, and elevated heart and respiration rates," he said, then held her gaze. "I don't trust them … I trust you."

Cuddy didn't respond and she knew he didn't expect her to. She moved instead to get an even better look at his thigh. She noted that her stitches had been pulled and the bruising away from his scar looked to be fading some, taking on that sick, yellowish look. But atop and offset to the left of the deep scar … that was a different story entirely. There was a lump.

"Intramuscular hematoma or…," she started to diagnose but couldn't say the other possibility that came to mind. He did, though, ever the diagnostician.

"Soft tissue neoplasm."

She nodded, not wanting to think on that possibility. Excise and drain, or…

"We need to get you to a hospital," she stated the obvious, at least to him. He didn't say anything, but his eyes communicated all she needed to know. He was concerned. No matter what the diagnosis, the medical history of his leg could, and probably would, complicate both treatment and recovery.

Cuddy looked at Stacy. "Do what you need to get him to a hospital, now. What he needs can't be done here," she stated with an authority that she hadn't truly felt since she walked the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro.

Stacy nodded, pulled out her cellphone and started dialing.

"I'll have her call Foreman."

House looked startled. "You'd go back there?"

It was a legitimate question. She'd wondered herself if she would ever be able to do so. She guessed she had her answer now, stating, "I still have privileges … the board insisted."

His mouth quirked a bit. "They're not as stupid as I remember."

"No," she stated then chided him, "You should have let them look."

"Do you really think they'd do a better job then me?"

Unable to help herself, Cuddy smiled and shook her head. "Not in a million years."


	28. Chapter 28

**Part 28**

Cuddy took a deep breath as she stepped down out of the ambulance and headed toward the emergency room doors of Princeton-Plainsboro.

To say it was awkward to return to her old hospital would have been an understatement. There were some polite nods from people she knew, some curious glances from people she didn't know, and some seriously salacious looks from key participants of the gossip network.

She had no doubt the rumor mill would be spinning full-tilt within a half-hour over her return — with House. He was, after all, the man who'd effectively instilled in her a desire to leave it behind to start a new life elsewhere, the past simply too painful to remain.

None of that pain was present now, for which she was grateful. No, awkwardness about summed it up, along with concern over House, which definitely wasn't something new. It seemed she'd spent most of her life worrying over him.

Eric Foreman met her just inside. House's successor, Robert Chase stood off to the side but nodded to her as she entered.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon?" Foreman said, extending his hand in welcome.

Cuddy gave his hand a shake then rolled her eyes when she heard a smart-ass comment come from behind her.

"What about me?"

_House._

Cuddy looked back over her shoulder at him, where he lay on the ambulance gurney in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffed. "Shut up."

"Some things never change." That came from Chase, muttered just loud enough to be heard by her and Foreman.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same,_ Cuddy groaned inwardly even as she began giving directions. "He needs a CT."

"He's going to have to wait his turn," Foreman told her. "The board said they don't want _him_ getting _any_ 'preferential' treatment."

Cuddy scowled.

"And you're comfortable with that? Last time I checked, less than half of them were licensed to practice," she stated in a tone that indicated she would not be putting up with any crap. "And, unless one of you has conducted an examination by seance or crystal ball, you don't have enough information on which to base any triage decision regarding hospital resources."

As she let that sink in, Cuddy realized that the entire interaction was perfect. Her annoyance with House's smart ass comments and bureaucratic dictates trying to trump decisions only doctors should make played right into his desire to keep people in the dark about her having known he was alive for nearly six months. She suspected she was coming across as the wronged woman who resented being unexpectedly dragged back into her ex-lover/attacker's life.

"Of course not," Foreman finally decided to respond, "But I can't move him to the front of the line just because he's somehow managed to drag you into all this and you don't want to be here."

Cuddy was taken aback by the not-so-veiled accusation that she would prioritize patients based on her personal feelings. She and House might want everyone to think she was resentful but she'd be damned if she'd stand here and be insulted professionally.

"_Excuse me?_"

"Now you've done it." It was House again.

She addressed him first, sternly, without even looking at him. "Shut. Up."

To the man in front of her, the current Dean of Medicine … he had apparently forgotten that she'd been crossing verbal and mental swords with the man behind her, for years. If she'd learned anything out of the experience, it was to not be intimidated. Foreman didn't intimidate her in the least. He had always been a good doctor but amazingly uptight. That clearly hadn't changed.

Releasing his hand, Cuddy laid it on the line.

"What _I_ feel and whether or not I _want_ to be here in the capacity of _his_ physician is not your concern or the point, Dr. Foreman," she scolded in the same tone she'd used many times with House himself. "_Your_ hospital has a patient here who needs to be evaluated so that _you_ can decide where he falls in the line." She paused. "That said, as his _doctor_, I'm telling you he needs a CT scan and something for his pain. Ketorolac will do."

Looking suitably chastised, Foreman said, "Of course, Dr. Cuddy."

"Thank you," she said, not entirely pacified but willing to move on. House needed attention. "Now, what's open?"

Chase took the lead, motioning the ambulance attendants to bring the gurney down to one of the curtained areas.

"Interesting that resurrection is amongst your talents," the young Aussie said as the attendants unbuckled the gurney straps so that House could move to the hospital's bed.

"That's what _she_ said," House countered even as he moved slowly to dismount the gurney. Cuddy helped him swing his leg over the edge but it almost gave way when he stood. She caught him, sliding beneath his arm to brace him with her shoulder. It wasn't an easy feat with his hands handcuffed in front of him. He looked at her.

"Thank you."

She heard the sincerity in his voice and knew it was for more than keeping him from falling. He was clearly playing the charade to the hilt, determined to protect her. She loved him for that.

Cuddy didn't respond but helped him cross the short distance to the bed. Once there, he spoke to her again, keeping his voice low. "I'm going to need some privacy again … and my hands."

She nodded and called the jail officers to come uncuff him. They looked reluctant. His having run before was enough to have them thinking he might again. She sought to reassure them. "He's not going anywhere with this leg."

They nodded and did as she asked. She then ushered them and everyone else out, stating, "We're going to need a minute or two to get him into a gown."

Chase raised his eyebrows but wisely didn't say anything as he reached for the privacy curtain and drew it closed around them.

Soon as they were relatively alone, Cuddy started helping House get out of the jumpsuit and into a gown. "I'll see if I can't get you something better…," she said quietly as she motioned to the godawful underwear, "… for while you're here."

His expression was both amused and gentle. He looked as though he might kiss her in gratitude but that look went away and they both smiled when they heard Foreman's not-so-quiet whisper from the other side of the drapery.

"Think it's safe to leave her in there with him?"


	29. Chapter 29

On a roll!

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**Part 29**

House was trembling by the time Cuddy helped him into the bed. He was also sweating profusely.

As he reclined back on the bed, Cuddy reached up and laid her hand across his brow, in comfort. She leaned in and brushed her lips across his cheek, moving quickly away before anyone decided they'd been taking too long and decided to join them.

"I'll get you something for the pain," she told him and watched his eyes fall shut. Her heart hurt at seeing him hurt. This was different than it had been a couple weeks ago. Very different.

Unable to stop herself, Cuddy slid her hand down to caress his cheek. His eyes opened in response and she saw everything she needed to see from him — love, just love. His fingers found hers on the bed and touched them lightly, fleetingly.

"You're staying?"

She nodded and he closed his eyes again.

Moving around the bed, Cuddy pulled the sheet and blanket up over him then folded the jumpsuit and stacked it with his other prison garb on the foot of the bed. She supposed she should call the others back, but decided she wanted to pack the things away first. It was a protective action, to conceal his vulnerability in some fashion.

Reaching under the bed, she found the plastic belongings sack and put his things into it. She pulled the tie tight and set the bag out of the way. She then shucked her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair on the other side of the monitor stands. Stacy had her purse and expected her to arrive shortly.

Once she and House were effectively squared away, Cuddy opened the curtain and looked directly at Chase who held a syringe and vial. "Ketorolac?" she asked.

"Yep," he said and moved to set them on the instrument tray near the bed. He handed her a pair of gloves and she left him to prep the syringe. Pulling a stool up to the bedside, Cuddy sat and snapped on the gloves. A nurse came over and set up an IV kit and hung a bag of saline. From there, Cuddy took over, first tying the tourniquet and finding a vein, then sanitizing the skin and easing the needle in.

"You're a great stick," House murmured and she felt a silly swell of pride at the praise as she taped the tubing in place on his arm. During their years at PPTH, he'd often accused her of not being a real doctor because she'd gone into administration, but when push came to shove, she was his go-to doctor for his own health.

Feeling and seeing a shudder suddenly course through his body, she glanced up at him and saw pain contorting his features. She had no idea why he wasn't writhing or moaning. But then again, he'd almost always dealt with his pain in silence.

Cuddy looked up at Chase who'd moved to stand beside her. He met her gaze, worry clouding his blue-green eyes as he handed her the syringe.

"Sure this'll be strong enough?"

She shook her head but said definitively, "No opiates or narcotics."

Her attention returned to House when he said her name, agony etched in the syllables.

"It's coming," she told him and slowly injected the medication into the IV.

When House's hand reached for her, she gave the syringe back to Chase and caught her lover's searching fingers, gave them a squeeze. "It's in," she told him. "Just give it a few minutes."

He shook his head against the pillow then looked pointedly at her. "CT. Now."

Worry shot through her. Last time he'd been this adamant about a medical test regarding himself…

"Is it the same?" she asked as she rose from the stool and yanked back the covers.

"Close," he said through gritted teeth.

"Christ," came Chase's voice from over her shoulder when she pulled up the gown just enough to expose House's right thigh. The young man moved around the bed quickly. "Sorry, House, this is gonna hurt."

Cuddy held her breath as Chase very gently palpated the area. House reached for her again, his hand clasping onto her forearm. She looked at him but saw him looking at Foreman.

"_Triage, anyone_?"

Cuddy watched Foreman turn and pick up a phone and tell whoever was on the other end to clear the CT room stat. He then went into action with Chase, each of them pulling up the side railings on the bed.

House released her when they did, grasped the railing. Watching his knuckles whiten, she was almost relieved he'd let her go but there was no relief to be found in the face of what she was seeing. It was too reminiscent of…

Praying that she wasn't watching history repeat itself, Cuddy followed his former team members as they wheeled him quickly toward the emergency department's CT.

They passed Stacy on the way, but Cuddy barely slowed down. She just quickly told the attorney that they were going to do a scan as she rushed by.

"Lisa?"

Cuddy glanced back over her shoulder at hearing her name and saw Stacy looking at House. The seriousness of the situation dawned on the woman almost immediately. Her dark eyes fixed on Cuddy and in them, Cuddy saw the same fear she felt.

"Go."

Cuddy went.


	30. Chapter 30

Think this'll be my last for the day, so to speak. So happy you're all enjoying it!

* * *

**Part 30**

While Foreman and the radiologist prepped for the scan, Cuddy and Chase drew House's blood and discussed the dangers of giving him heparin without knowing the clotting factors.

Chase was advocating the administration of the anticoagulant as a pre-emptive measure but Cuddy was staunchly against it. Without the scan and results of blood work, there was no way to know if it would help or kill House.

Cuddy didn't want to do anything until they had some sort of diagnostic indication of the best course of action but she admitted to herself that this wasn't her territory of expertise.

House was the risk-taker, the one to make the intuitive jump when traditional trains of medical thought had reached the end of the line. That was his specialty and what had made him the best in the field. Cuddy had been there to keep him in line, to balance the scales and play the foil when he needed one, to support and put her faith in him when he could lay out the medical logic to justify a risky move, and protect him if it turned out to be the wrong one.

Instinctively, Cuddy wanted to trust his judgement in this, too, but she wasn't sure she could. In the past, he had often leapt before looking when it came to his own health, but this was not a decision she would make for him, not when it could kill him.

Cutting off Chase, Cuddy leaned over House.

"Your patient, House," she started the conversation with him and laid out his own medical history and current symptoms, and stressed that they didn't have enough information to know if the medication would help or hurt.

His eyes opened and she could see the wheels turning. She watched in awe as he processed the information despite the tremendous pain wracking his body.

"Do it," he told Cuddy after a moment.

"House, I just gave you ketorolac," she warned, knowing the NSAID was already in his system, which would only magnify the effect of the heparin, possibly fatally.

"If it's another clot…." He left the rest unsaid because there was no need to say anything more. She could see his fear. It was an all-too-familiar one, and she understood it, shared it.

"I know," she replied then asked, wanting him to evaluate the situation again, "You're sure?"

"Low dose, direct injection," he said and she felt relieved when he added, "Have the platelets and plasma ready."

_Do it but be ready if it's the wrong choice. Cover the bases as best as they can be._

Cuddy nodded in understanding and looked at Chase. "Do it."

The young doctor didn't hesitate, bounding out of the room to get what they needed. As the doors closed behind him, Foreman announced the scanner was ready and Cuddy moved to join him after lightly touching House's hand.

Cuddy stood behind Foreman, leaning against the wall for support. She noted he had dismissed the radiologist and was operating the device himself. Her eyes on House, she watched as the table glided into the ring, taking him with it. Once the scan began, her attention turned to the monitors. She moved closer as the imaging came up on the screen. She slid into the chair beside Foreman and stared intently, looking for…

"There it is," Foreman said, his finger pointing out the very obvious mass. "Soft tissue tumor."

Cuddy nodded. "His initial diagnosis was right."

Beside her, Foreman replied, "And that surprises you?"

She shook her head without looking at him.

It was quiet a moment then Foreman stated softly, "You knew."

Cuddy looked at him sharply. "Knew what?" she responded and hated how defensive she sounded. If she wasn't half-scared out of her mind she would have been more guarded in her reaction.

Foreman fixed her with a look that clearly said "You know what I'm talking about."

When she looked back at the screen and didn't say anything more, he sighed and said, "I knew, too."

This time when Cuddy looked at him, he was looking at the screen. She didn't know what to say but suspected she shouldn't say anything, so she held her tongue and reached for the microphone switch to give House the diagnosis.

"Wow, I'm good," he replied but it wasn't an attempt at humor or even an expression of hubris. It was a deflection, pure and simple. So was her response.

"You're an ass."

He countered her declaration with an exhausted "Get me out of this thing."

Cuddy waited for Foreman to shut off the machine then went out in the other room, leaving the young dean to review diagnostic imagery further. She stopped Chase as he re-entered the room.

"Holding off for now," she said, bringing him up short. "Scan shows a soft tissue neoplasm roughly 4 centimeters in diameter."

"Then we need to biopsy," Chase leapt ahead, serious but eager in a way that reminded her of House, and yet not.

Cuddy agreed with him on the next step, though. They needed to find out if the mass was benign or malignant so they could plan a course of treatment. But that was going to wait at least a few hours if she had any say.

House needed to rest before they started sticking him with large needles and yanking parts of him out, or cutting into him. His system was too stressed. They needed to get his pain under control before he had a cardiac event. The ketorolac would manage it if given time to work and its anticoagulant effects would also help with the bruising and hopefully ease the swelling. They also needed to get the blood work back from the lab to find out not only his clotting factors but his white cell count.

Cuddy wanted information. He'd been asymptomatic when she'd seen him a couple weeks ago, but this thing had been growing for a while. It was too big to have cropped up in such a short stretch of time unless it had been hiding and the trauma from his "fall" had forced it to reveal itself, sending his system into shock as a bonus. Or it was malignant.

Cuddy did not want to think about that possibility, but as a doctor, she didn't have the luxury of ignorance even if she would love to have it at the moment.

Moving over to the table, Cuddy focused on something she could do and helped House sit up. He wasn't trembling any more, but he was still ridiculously tense, meaning the medicine hadn't taken hold yet, or he needed more.

"What's your pain level?" she asked when he leaned his head back and looked up at her.

"A twelve." She wished he was joking but knew he wasn't.

"I'm exercising my privileges and admitting you," she told him even though it was pretty obvious that's what they were going to have to do. He wasn't going back to jail tonight, probably not for several days, at least. She was going to ask Stacy to do what she could to keep him out of it altogether. He was in too much danger there in his condition.

"What about the board?" he asked.

She shrugged and gave him a little smile.

"Screw them."


	31. Chapter 31

Sorry for the delay on this part. I've been mired in research for upcoming parts. Thank you all again for your feedback. I'm overwhelmed.

* * *

**Part 31**

Cuddy stared out the window of the private room assigned to Gregory House at Princeton-Plainsboro. She was watching raindrops hit and slide down the glass in sunset-catching rivulets.

The solitary accommodations would have been impossible if Stacy hadn't gone to bat for him. She'd quickly arranged an emergency meeting with a judge, the district attorney and sheriff with the goal of getting House released on bond, something he'd initially been denied. Her argument had been a good one: While House was in custody, the state and city would be responsible for his possibly extensive medical care, not to mentions the funds they'd have to devote to having officers guard him around the clock.

Money, or rather its finite nature was always a good argument with anyone who struggled regularly with budget restrictions and cuts. Government and elected officials were always under that threat so it hadn't been a shock that they'd all but jumped at the chance to release him into someone else's custody — Cuddy's. It had been the caveat. Someone had to take responsibility for him.

As his attorney, Stacy couldn't and Cuddy didn't think she wanted, too, probably because of her husband, Mark. But Cuddy had told her without hesitation that she'd do it. The attorney had raised her eyebrows when Cuddy had just reached for the paperwork Stacy held, grabbed a pen out of Chase's pocket, and started signing.

Cuddy had heard but ignored Stacy when she'd stressed the seriousness of what Cuddy was doing, explaining that she was legally bound to House in this and could face charges were he to pull another vanishing act. Cuddy didn't think the woman believed that House would do it, but was probably questioning Cuddy's state of mind, especially when she'd said she would fork over the bond, too, which had been substantial. That hadn't been needed, though. Once again Wilson had planned ahead for his friend and set up an account just for House's legal needs and made Stacy the executor.

_Wilson, a friend to the end and beyond._

Leaning her head against the cool glass, Cuddy shut her eyes. She was missing Wilson keenly at the moment. In the past, he had always been there for her when she was dealing with or worrying over House. She really needed him right now, as a friend and as an oncologist. She needed his counsel and steady presence, his caring experience and medical guidance. But he was gone and she was in this on her own.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

At the soft utterance of her name, Cuddy turned and looked to see a familiar face. _Thirteen. Dr. Remy Hadley._

Cuddy moved from the window to meet the bright-eyed young woman who was standing at the foot of House's bed. He was sleeping but pain still had a hold on him. His brow was drawn tight with it, his body tense. He was so pale and a sheen of perspiration gleamed on his skin despite the room's subdued lighting.

"I would say I'm shocked, but…"

The admiration in Thirteen's voice was unmistakable to Cuddy's ears. She'd learned from Wilson's journal that House had promised the young woman he would euthanize her when she was ready to escape the clutches of Huntington's disease.

Looking at her, Cuddy noted, no one would guess she was living with a death sentence. She looked full of life, vibrant and beautiful.

"He has always been full of surprises," Cuddy said, wondering how many other people would _actually_ be shocked for longer than five seconds to find out House was alive. If he were awake, she was sure he'd take bets on it. She suspected Chase had already started the pool.

Meeting Thirteen's gaze, Cuddy let her know why she called her. "I need you to do something for me."

The taller woman looked a bit surprised, which wasn't really unexpected. Cuddy had been Thirteen's boss by proxy, House her immediate supervisor, so their interactions hadn't been ones that would have made them close enough to ask favors of one another. But Cuddy needed one. If Cameron had still been around, she would have been Cuddy's first choice, but House and Wilson had both admired Thirteen, so Cuddy was going to trust her with a special mission.

"What do you need?" Thirteen responded after a moment.

"I need you to go to Baltimore and pick up my daughter."

If Thirteen looked surprised before, she looked downright shocked now.

"I'm going to be here for the next several days at least. Maybe longer. I'm not sure yet. But I need Rachel brought here," Cuddy stated and looked back to House. "I can't send her to my mother's or sister's because they'll want to know why."

"They haven't heard yet," Thirteen commented.

Cuddy shook her head but her gaze didn't stray from the bed's occupant. She explained, "They also don't know I'm here and I'm hoping to avoid the drama as long as I can."

"You have enough to worry about."

Glancing at the young woman, Cuddy saw understanding. That's why it didn't come as a surprise when Thirteen told her she'd do it.

"Thank you," Cuddy said and felt a wave of relief. She had no idea what she was going to do once Rachel arrived, but she'd deal with that when the time came. For now, she was just happy to have someone she could entrust with her daughter's safety.

"I can be on the road within the hour," Thirteen said.

Heading over to the chair by the window, Cuddy picked up her purse and dug out a credit card. "Use this for gas, and I'll reimburse any other expenses."

Thirteen took the card when Cuddy brought it to her. "I'll call and let her nanny know you're coming," Cuddy continued. "She'll have a bag packed for her, and also one for me. And something for House."

Thirteen nodded. "You want me to bring her here? Does she know…?"

"Yes," Cuddy replied, adding, "I never told her."

Thirteen gave her a little nod. Again, there was understanding. It had always amazed Cuddy how mature the young doctor was. But then again, knowing death was coming sooner rather than later, did tend to change a person's perspective on life. Cuddy had seen it before … _in Wilson_.

Swallowing the pang of grief at the thought of him, Cuddy gave Thirteen the address to her home and asked, "You're sure about this?"

A nod of certainty. "Absolutely," she said then anticipated Cuddy's next words, "… and I'll be careful."

"Thank you," Cuddy said again and watched the young woman leave.

Once she was gone, Cuddy moved to the side of the bed and gazed down at House. He looked miserable, even with the pain medication in his system.

Reaching out, she touched him, smoothing her hand over his damp brow and through his equally damp hair. He stirred at the contact, eyes opening and his head shifting on the pillow to look up at her. She saw a glint of gratitude in his gaze.

"Any better?" she asked softly.

"Not much."

Cuddy continued her touch, her fingers following the same path again and again in hopes of soothing him at least a bit. She felt helpless, really wanted to give him a more potent medication, but he'd adamantly refused the suggestion of it when they moved him to the room. It had surprised his former staff and even Cuddy a bit. And yet not. He had always been relentless about things he was sure of and apparently his sobriety had become one of those things. Cuddy admired him even as she hurt for him.

"House, tell me what I can do to help my patient." It was a heartfelt plea not from his doctor, but the woman who loved him.

He looked at her so earnestly, eyes searching hers. "Just your patient?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained with the pain.

Cuddy shook her head. "No … never just that," she told him then demonstrated the truth of her words.

She leaned down and kissed him.


	32. Chapter 32

**Part 32**

House wasn't improving.

His pain was continuing relatively unabated. His temperature was elevated enough to call a fever, but not astronomical. His breathing was somewhat labored, and his heart rate was too high for Cuddy's liking, so was his blood pressure.

Robert Chase didn't like it either. He was standing just outside House's room with Cuddy and Eric Foreman. Both the men were frowning as they read House's chart.

"This doesn't make any sense. He should be showing some sort of improvement by now," Chase said, clearly confounded.

Cuddy nodded, "We've missed something."

"There was nothing else on the scan and the blood work was unremarkable," Foreman commented, "There's got to be something we haven't found yet. No way this is just the tumor."

"No," Cuddy chimed in then addressed her most immediate concern. "I'm worried about his heart," she said and it was a valid issue. House'd had more than one cardiac event in his life already. She didn't want another added to his medical history. "We have to get the pain under control. His system is too stressed."

Foreman looked at her. "We need to get him on something stronger than ketorolac, or any other NSAID."

"He won't take it," Cuddy said emphatically.

"He may have to," Foreman countered.

Cuddy shook her head and again told him "No." She would not go against his wishes on that, but considered…

"He might consent to a medically induced coma," she said more to herself than the two men in front of her. House had wanted it back when he'd had the initial infraction in his thigh. Then she had thought, her eyes darting to House's prone form. "What about ketamine?"

Chase shrugged. "It worked before, but we still don't know what's wrong. We should do an MRI and get a better look."

Foreman agreed, but asked, "Does _he_ have an opinion?"

Cuddy debated on calling her successor an idiot. House would have because it was an idiotic question. House _always_ had an opinion and wasn't shy about sharing it, even if it offended someone.

Ultimately, Cuddy settled for telling Forman, "He's got that look."

The two doctors shared a glance, telling Cuddy she didn't have to explain. They knew exactly what she was talking about. They'd seen House in action for years.

Earlier, when Cuddy had talked to House about how she could help him, he'd gotten that intense look that he always had when he was working out a puzzle. _His_ current puzzle was just the sort that he'd thrived on for years. She had no doubt his brilliant mind was on the job even with the pain and medication conspiring against him.

"Should we ask him?" The question came from Chase.

_Idiotic question number two. What the hell happened to these two in the last six months?_

Cuddy didn't bother even answering that one, she just cut Chase a look that she hoped indicated he'd just asked the dumbest question in the world. The message must have gotten through because, looking thoroughly chastised, he tucked his chin and breezed past her and into House's room, with Foreman falling in behind him.

Cuddy followed and moved to the opposite side of the bed. She glanced at House's vitals on the monitor and scowled.

"House?"

Hearing Chase, Cuddy turned to watch House wake. His gaze sharpened when he took in the two men at the right side of the bed.

"Hello, my young padawans," House quipped. "What wisdom do you have for your master?"

Cuddy tried really hard not to smile and roll her eyes at the same time. House was … still House.

"We're still missing something."

It was Forman who spoke first, earning a scathing response, "I'll take State the Obvious for no points, Alex."

It was as if no time had passed, Cuddy thought, watching him toss barbs at his former team members, testing, pushing, calling them out.

House looked to Chase, who promptly spoke up. "I want to do a full body scan."

"Well, go do one," House replied, "But would you mind getting me one, too. My leg _really_ hurts. Oh, and there's a _tumor_ in there."

"House—" Chase began but stopped when Cuddy stepped up. She could see the pain was talking as much as anything and wanted House to check himself.

"Ketamine."

She said just the one word and he looked at her.

"Short-term fix," he stated, eyes keen on her.

Cuddy didn't look away. "I'm not talking about long term," she said, even though she wished she was. "Interim pain management to stabilize your system."

Cuddy held her hand out to Chase in a silent request to give her the chart. He did and she handed it to House.

"You can't take much more of this," she stated plainly and watched him scan the information, flipping through the pages. While he was absorbing the information, Foreman decided to speak up, mentioning the need for a stronger pain reliever than House was currently on.

His suggestion was greeted with a stern, simultaneous "No!" from House and Cuddy.

House looked up at her. "Ketamine is risky with these numbers"

"Then give me an alternative," she challenged him.

He looked away from her and back at the chart. To anyone else outside of the room, it would have seemed he was scanning the information on the paper, but she knew better. His mind was searching for the alternative.

Over the years, Cuddy had observed him doing this more times than she could count but it never ceased to amaze her. She'd often wondered what it would be like to be inside his brain and see the sifting of various bits of information from here and there, gleaning the material from the immaterial and then finding that one little thing that would bring it all together into a perfect whole.

There was a time Cuddy had envied his abilities, her ambition and competitive nature coveting his genius. Then she'd seen the cost of such incomparable brilliance and the price House paid for it.

Restlessness. Exhaustion. Loneliness. Those three things had made up most of his life, much of it through no actual fault of his own. He hadn't asked for his gifts nor the things that came with them. He hadn't asked for a father who treated him like crap instead of nurturing his genius and helping him build healthy coping mechanisms for the world of mediocrity that awaited him.

His intelligence left him bored with most everything and everyone around him, and filled him with a need for constant stimulation in whatever way he could find it — turning condescension and verbal warfare into an art form, sharpening his wit at the expense of his subordinates, making manipulation a sport. And yet almost any degree of sustained human interaction wore him out, which alone explained the hookers.

In many ways, House was an exposed nerve, intensely sensitive to everyone and everything around him. He absorbed it all, saw it all, felt it all, and it left him raw. He was sensory overload personified. It's why he pushed people away by any means necessary. It's why the drugs had been able to gain such a tight hold. And it was why he loved the puzzles and preferred to never see his patients. He literally needed the disconnect because to engage was more than he could handle.

And yet he'd engaged her, constantly. And Wilson.

There'd been times Cuddy had wondered if she would ever have a moment's peace and seriously considered hurling her stapler at House's head. Then he'd do something so unexpected and touching and she'd see the man underneath all the juvenile antics and his longing and need for connection. Every time she'd come face to face with him that way, she'd lost her train of thought and forgiven him instantly any and every thing.

_Which is what happened in Scranton._

Cuddy hadn't been able to hold onto any anger when confronted with the man behind the mask that had been so carefully crafted over the years and presented to the world. His exhaustion had matched her own. His loneliness had been a perfect mirror of hers. Then there'd been the love. It had soothed the restlessness in them both and given birth to a hope she'd feared she'd never feel again.

As she continued to watch him, Cuddy felt another fear — the fear of losing him. It was a fear that became alarm in a split-second when she saw him drop the chart and reach for his leg.

"House!"


	33. Chapter 33

**Part 33**

The chart clattered to the floor somewhere as they all reached for House.

Cuddy yanked back the covers, Foreman caught his arms, and Chase examined the wound. Cuddy's heart nearly stopped when she saw the disproportionate swelling in House's thigh. What remained of his quadriceps muscle group was bulging anterior to his scar.

"Oh God." She heard the words leave her mouth.

Adrenaline and fear surging through her, Cuddy caught Chase's gaze. "Compartment syndrome?"

"Oh God," he echoed, all but confirming her diagnosis. "We need an OR right now!" he shouted over his shoulder then reached down and pulled the latch to unlock the gurney wheels. To his left, Foreman lowered the head of the bed and lay it completely flat

On autopilot, Cuddy immediately reached for the IV bag on the independent stand and laid it on the bed beside House. As she did, she mentally scolded herself for not putting him in the ICU with beds that had monitors and stands attached. She really should have done that and probably would have if they hadn't been so preoccupied with getting him out of the clutches of the authorities and into a private room.

House looked at her when she opened his gown and quickly began disconnecting him from the leads that transmitted the information to the monitors. Agony was an inadequate word to describe what she saw in his face.

"No fasciotomy," he told her. It was a plea, maybe even a prayer. She heeded it without hesitation. She knew, just as he did, that he simply did not have enough thigh mass to do the standard treatment for the condition, which was to cut through the skin layers down to the muscle and leave the wound open until the swelling went down. It was tough enough on someone with a healthy thigh, but with his situation it would astronomically increase the odds of amputation becoming a necessity. Draining would be the better option, especially if her suspicions about the cause were correct.

"Set up a fluoroscope!" she called out to the nurses, silently sending up her own prayers as they began wheeling the bed out of the room.

"You're thinking a hematoma?" Chase asked.

Cuddy nodded. "Something under or around the tumor," she said as she grabbed the foot of the gurney and pushed. "One with a slow leak," she said, her gaze on House's face. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth twisted in a grimace. "I think it's been there since his bike wreck a couple weeks ago and probably would have been fine but the fall at the jail must have dispersed it. It's been clotting all day."

What Cuddy didn't say was that the lack of elasticity in the scar tissue on House's thigh was probably the only reason they were seeing it now - and probably the reason the situation was acute.

"That would explain why it didn't show up on the CT," Foreman chimed in, exchanging a quick glance with Chase.

"We're definitely going to see it now," Chase commented as they rushed down the hall.

House's body suddenly drew tight as a bow and began to shake. "He's seizing!" Cuddy shouted.

"Ativan!" Foreman ordered even as they picked up the pace.

A young male nurse ran to catch up with them, the requested anti-seizure medication in hand. Cuddy released the gurney to Chase and Foreman, letting them move on while she stopped for the vial and syringe. Doing a quick mental calculation, she drew up the correct dosage, gave the syringe a couple taps and tested it. She then capped it and took off again, catching up with them as they rounded the corner to the OR.

As soon as the gurney stopped inside the blue-tiled room, Cuddy moved up and injected the drug into House's IV. After a few moments his body slumped to the bed. A nurse took the used syringe from Cuddy when she reached to feel House's pulse. It was there, _too _there.

"Get him back on the monitors," she ordered and reached for the gown and pulled it open to expose his chest again. She stepped back to let the nurse attach the leads and get the blood pressure cuff on him. Her eyes flew to the monitor as soon as she heard his vitals begin to register.

"Move it, Chase," she called out then stepped up to House's side as the nurse moved away. "House?"

He seemed to stir a bit but didn't wake. She reached and did a sternal rub, knowing the painful stimulus should bring him around further. It did.

"You had a seizure," she informed him, then leaned closer and looked directly in his eyes, making sure she had his attention. "We're going to put you out. I need to know if you want the ketamine."

"No fasciotomy," he repeated.

"Yes, but I need to know about the ketamine and I need to know now," she stressed.

He nodded.

Cuddy immediately gave the orders to the anesthesiologist who was just entering the room. "Get ketamine."

"Dr. Cuddy?"

There was clear surprise in his voice, which she recognized but didn't take time to put a name to. She just reiterated her order.

"Ketamine, now."

Cuddy aimed for sounding authoritative and not desperate but wasn't sure how successful she was but was thankful when the man obeyed, sending one of the nurses for it. She then filled the doctor in on the situation as well as what medicine had been administered in the hospital and what House had been taking recently. She wanted to make sure the doctor would have all the information he needed to safely administer the anesthesia. He was clearly taken aback, though, when she told him to not administer opioids or narcotics.

Cuddy started to explain but House beat her to it, pain saturating every single syllable.

"Her patient's a recovering addict."

Cuddy knew it wasn't the words but House's voice that caught the anesthesiologist's ear. She watched him step around to get a look at the patient.

"House? I thought you were dead."

Cuddy saw House glare at him. He was in no condition for conversation, explanations, or patronization.

Cuddy shot the doctor a withering look of her own, snapping, "He will be if you don't do your job."

Taking the hint, the doctor went back to work, mobilizing for the procedure.

Chase came into the room then, scrubbed and ready to go. He took control and Cuddy released it, turning her attention to House. "I'm going to scrub in," she told him and watched a measure of relief wash over him.

"Thank you."

The words were said softly, prompting her to ignore everyone in the room and reach out and touch him, bestowing a caress to his cheek.

"Pushing the Versed," the anesthesiologist announced. "Ketamine prepped."

Cuddy nodded then waited until House's eyes drifted shut before stepping out to scrub.


	34. Chapter 34

**Part 34**

Cuddy sat in the chair next to House's bed and watched him sleep.

He was in the ICU now. They'd briefly brought him around after the surgery to make sure he was responsive then she'd requested they put him back under a while longer to give his body a chance to rest.

The procedure went well.

Using the fluoroscope, Chase had been able to get under the tumor without nicking it and extracted the clot. Not knowing if the tumor was benign or malignant, it had been imperative that the mass not be ruptured in the slightest for fear of sending cancer cells throughout House's system.

It had been an incredibly delicate procedure, requiring a deft hand, patience, and time, and Chase had handled it well. As for herself…

Cuddy had held her breath through much of it, standing back out of the way and observing, ready to step up if needed. Thankfully, she hadn't been, but it hadn't made it any easier to watch.

Cuddy had experienced many instances of deja vu throughout the procedure. She'd seen House like this too many times, for too many reasons. From his original infarction to his trying to do that damned surgery on himself.

Sighing in exhaustion and exasperation, Cuddy leaned forward and bowed her back to stretch the stiff muscles. She stood then and checked House's vitals. There was no reason to do so other than her innate-bordering-on-obsessive need to watch over him. The monitors were working just fine, his heart rate, respiration, and blood pressure were markedly improved. If there'd been any change since the last time she'd checked, the machines would have alerted her. But she looked anyway, pressed her fingers to the pulse point in his neck then let her hand come to rest on his shoulder.

_He needs to shave_, she noted.

"Hey."

Looking up, Cuddy saw Stacy Warner slipping into the room with two cups of coffee.

Cuddy slowly eased away from the bed and dropped back into the chair. She drew her feet up into the seat with her and wrapped an arm around her knees. Stacy came over and handed Cuddy a cup of the coffee before dragging another chair up to sit beside her.

Cuddy thanked her and they sat quietly for a while before Stacy finally broke the silence, addressing the elephant that had been in the proverbial room since she'd agreed to go see House at the jail.

"You know, you're really putting yourself out there for a man who drove a car into your home."

There was no accusation in the words, just curiosity.

Cuddy took a moment before responding, casting a brief glance at the brunette beside her before resettling her attention on House. "What is there to say really?" she said softly. "He did an awful thing … but I love him." She paused then said, softer still, "I've loved him since I was 22 years old."

She heard Stacy shift beside her. "That long?"

Cuddy nodded slowly.

"I would have never guessed. He was alway so patronizing to you, and you gave as good as you got. I used to give him hell about it."

Cuddy suppressed her automatic response, which was to confess that it had been her and House's version of foreplay. She didn't think Stacy was ready to hear that the bickering had a sexual undercurrent, even back then. It would have been unkind and Stacy was a friend. Besides, Cuddy hadn't know it at the time. She chose a version of that truth to share with Stacy.

"Don't feel bad. It took me nearly two decades realize it ... and even less time to screw it up," she said, her gaze flickering to Stacy and then back to House. _Less than a year, in fact, _Cuddy thought.

"You don't blame yourself for…"

"No," Cuddy interrupted, hearing the disbelief in Stacy's voice. Cuddy absolutely did not blame herself for his actions but she could take the blame for her own. "But I wasn't fair to him," she said, confessing the same to Stacy that she had to House just weeks ago.

Cuddy could feel Stacy looking at her, knew the woman was processing what she'd told her in the last few minutes. There was wonder in her words when she finally spoke.

"You've forgiven him."

Cuddy felt the sting of tears. It had been one thing to tell him, to admit to herself even, but to hear someone else say it… For some reason it made it feel even more real.

"Yes," she whispered, a tear slipping free.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy saw Stacy sit back in the chair and cross her legs. A wisp of wistful amusement colored the attorney's next words.

"He gets under the skin, doesn't he?"

_Oh yes, he gets under the skin … into the heart and brain and blood and marrow and …_

"He gets _in,_" Cuddy replied, stressing the last word in a way that left no doubt as to her feelings for the man in the bed in front of them. Another tear slipped free when she added, a tremor in her voice, "And I need him there."

It was a truth Cuddy had barely admitted to herself since leaving Scranton, too afraid to think on it for longer than a moment or two for fear he might not feel quite the same. She certainly hadn't expect to say it aloud to anyone else. But it was out there and the reality of it hit her like a sledgehammer. Her breath hitched with it.

Stacy touched Cuddy's arm, squeezed gently. "I'll do everything I can to help him. I promise you."

"I know," Cuddy whispered and looked over at her friend. She saw no jealousy in House's former lover, just concern and an understanding that could only come from the experience of loving him. Cuddy was grateful for it because she'd just lost the only other person who knew what it was to love House, despite everything he did, didn't do, had done, and would do.

Thinking of Wilson only sparked more tears from Cuddy. She hated to cry, but she couldn't seem to stop them. It had been a long, stressful day and she was worn out, unable to muster her usual reserve.

But then she found it. A movement at the room's entrance caught her eye and she looked and saw her daughter.

Cuddy smiled and felt her heart lift a little.


	35. Chapter 35

**Part 35**

Stepping outside of House's room, Cuddy swept Rachel up in a hug and was hugged in return.

Holding her tight, Cuddy mouthed a thank you to Thirteen who just smiled and looked back over her shoulder. Another young woman was approaching, pulling along Cuddy's bag and carrying the one for House. _Her partner_, Cuddy presumed.

"How is he?" Thirteen whispered.

"Compartment syndrome … but he's holding his own," Cuddy told her, then smiled at Rachel who drew back and planted a kiss on Cuddy's cheek.

"We had ice cream," the little girl announced.

"I hope it was okay," Thirteen quickly said on the heels of Rachel's news.

"It's fine," Cuddy assured her. While she tried to limit the amount of sweets Rachel consumed, ice cream remained a vice — one she owed to House. He'd always kept a box in her refrigerator and all Rachel'd had to do was give him the sad eyes and rub them like she was going to cry and he'd give her a scoop. The tradition had continued even after he'd been out of their lives, and Cuddy'd allowed it because Rachel loved House and she'd lost enough already.

_And now she's on the cusp of getting it back … we both are … in some form._

Hope taking hold of her heart again, Cuddy hugged Rachel tightly again.

"I can't thank you enough," Cuddy told Thirteen. "Truly."

"It was no problem," Thirteen replied and reached into her back pocket. "We had fun," she said as she pulled Cuddy's credit card out and held it out.

Cuddy took it with a smile then glanced at the powder-pink suitcase beside Thirteen. She considered taking it into the room but decided she needed to talk to Rachel before she took her in. A five-year-old needed to be prepared for what she was about to see. Just seeing House was going to be surprise enough, with the condition he was in…

Thirteen must have sensed her hesitation because she offered to take the case into the room. Cuddy thanked her once more and moved out of the way to let her in, followed by her partner with the other two bags.

Cuddy acknowledged the unnamed woman with a nod then took a step away from the room. She had planned to take Rachel to the waiting room to talk but those plans flew out the window when the blinds shifted enough to give the little girl a look inside the room.

"House!"

It was a shout of pure joy accompanied by a brilliant smile. The reaction touched Cuddy's heart. _Screw talking_, she thought and followed the other women inside.

As Cuddy closed the door behind her, Rachel shifted in her arms to keep her eyes on House. Cuddy watched her closely, taking in her reaction and preparing to respond as needed.

"He's sick?" Rachel asked, her face scrunching into a frown, smile now gone.

"Yes," Cuddy answered truthfully and moved slowly toward the bed, explaining, "He's sleeping right now."

Rachel just studied House when Cuddy stopped at the bedside. After a few moments, she looked up and asked, "Will he be okay?"

That was a question, Cuddy didn't know how to answer. She could make no promises and she wouldn't lie to her child.

After a moment, Cuddy settled on just saying "I hope so."

Rachel looked back at House then started leaning down toward him. Cuddy balanced her, tears threatening again when Rachel's little hand came to rest on House's cheek and stroked his beard

"You'll be okay, House," she declared with the certainty only children possessed.

Cuddy didn't even try to stop the tears now, especially when House opened his eyes and looked up at them both. His gaze was still cloudy from the sedation but there was a slight curve to his mouth when he said, "Ye mangy bilge rat."

The pirate inflection was absent but the words made Rachel happy nonetheless. She delightfully replied with "ye bloody scallywag" and got a bit broader smile out of him before he drifted back off.

"He's tired," Rachel pronounced then touched Cuddy's face, her little hands wiping away Cuddy's tears.

"Yes, he needs to rest," Cuddy explained.

"So do you."

It was Stacy who said it.

Tears glistening in her eyes, the power-suited attorney was rising and moving around to meet Cuddy at the foot of the bed. Cuddy introduced her as House's friend and listened to Stacy ask Rachel if she was hungry.

"How about we go get something to eat then and let mommy rest a little, too?" Stacy suggested.

Rachel looked at Cuddy, who assured her that it was okay. "You can even have pizza," she told her. Yet another dietary corruption of her daughter by House.

The little one's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Can I bring House some?"

"Sure, sweetheart," Cuddy smiled as she let Stacy take her. "You can even bring me some."

"You don't like pizza," Rachel said and she was right. Cuddy didn't care for it, but she was hungry and she knew it would make her daughter happy to think she liked it, even if only for a day.

"I do today," she said and watched a smile blossom on Rachel's face.

It had been the right answer.


	36. Chapter 36

**Part 36**

"Look, it's either this," Cuddy said, shaking the empty plastic container in her hand, "or a catheter, so take your pick."

He was scowling, looking at the container. "Can't I just use the bathroom like normal people?"

"No."

Cuddy wasn't budging. He did not need to be up and moving yet. Through the night, the nurses had been icing his leg every half-hour, fifteen minutes on, fifteen minutes off, hoping to stem swelling and promote healing. Cuddy had helped for a while before the nurses had brought her a cot and finally made her lay down. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she'd have probably fought them on it, but she'd gone off to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She's slept soundly but had woken a few minutes ago to the voices of the staff trying to keep House from getting out of the bed to go to the bathroom. Rising, she'd ushered them out of the room and taken over. Now she was laying down the law.

Holding out the container, she shook it again with a smirk. He gave her a petulant look then snatched the container from her hand in dramatic fashion.

"Could you at least make sure I don't end up with an audience?" he said, chin lifting in a gesture toward the door.

Cuddy's smirk became a smile, one fueled by mischief. She leaned forward, over the side of the bed to take a quick peek over the barrier he'd made of the covers as he pulled himself out and prepared to use the urine container.

"Do you really think," she said, looking up at his face, "I want anyone else to see that part of you?"

She raised an eyebrow in challenge and earned a very Housian response, amused arrogance replacing his pout.

"Possessive much?"

"I would say a little," she smiled at him, then took another peek over the covers, "but _that's_ not."

"Oh you," he replied then held up his hand and turned his finger in a circle.

"Okay," she agreed and moved over to the door to deter anyone from entering. From there, she offered him an olive branch for the embarrassment of the bathroom situation. "I'll arrange a shower in a while. You'll have to sit, but I thought you'd like to clean up."

"In the women's locker room?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and smirked. That question was _so_ him.

"The patient showers," she responded. "But if you behave, I'll help."

"I love when you blackmail me … and your huge ass. Can I say that? That I love your huge, _gorgeous_ ass."

"I think you just did, twice," Cuddy shook her head, still smirking.

For years, House had been teasing her about the size of her ass, but she'd known it was because he coveted that part of her. Instead of being insulted or offended, she'd gotten a thrill out of knowing she could drive him mad by wearing tight skirts and adding a bit more sway to her hips when she knew he was around. And low-cut blouses — he _loved_ those.

"I added 'gorgeous' on the second one," was his reply followed by an elongated sigh of relief.

Cuddy looked over and watched his head drop back against the pillow as his bladder surrendered. She understood the reaction. They didn't call it "relieving yourself" for nothing.

When he finished, Cuddy took him a cloth to clean up with and accepted the container from him. She capped it off and set it out of the way. The nurses would pick it up later and take it to the lab for a post-op urinalysis. The cloth, once he was done, was tossed into the bio-hazard laundry hamper.

"You hungry?" she asked handing him an antiseptic wipe for his hands.

"Unless the food has improved around here … and I doubt it has with Foreman in charge … I'll pass," House replied then met her gaze. "By the way, did you see what he did to your office? You could operate in there it's so sterile. I think Chase almost did a surgery in there once by accident. I know Ayersman did, but he shouldn't be allowed in an OR anyway."

Cuddy shook her head in amusement. She had not seen it but with Foreman so uptight and his incessant desire to be perfectly poised, she could see it being just as House described. She started to say something snarky but stopped when she noticed House looking at her with a seriousness that she hadn't expected considering the nature of their conversation so far.

"What?" she asked.

"All the warmth left this place with you."

They were simple words but the meaning behind them was powerful. It was both a confession and an apology. She heard it in his voice, the earnestness of his tone giving away what he was really saying. It touched her to know that she'd been missed here, this place she'd helped turn into one of the best hospitals in the country. She'd sometimes wondered if she had been or if they'd been relieved to have her and House both gone.

House started to say more but only two words — "I would" — made it out of his mouth before she closed the distance, took his face into her hands and kissed him soundly.


	37. Chapter 37

**Part 37**

Cuddy kissed House until she couldn't breathe and they were both speechless.

When she pulled her mouth away, she pressed her brow to his and tried to steady her heart. The man knew exactly what to say and when to say it — even when he didn't know. It was a paradox that she wasn't sure he knew existed, brilliant as he was.

Eventually, he was the one who broke the silence. "You okay?"

Cuddy nodded, her nose brushing against his. She wanted to kiss him again and would have if she hadn't heard the door open.

Looking over, she saw a beaming Rachel holding a pizza box. Stacy, who'd kept Rachel for the night, was right behind her and looked pointedly between Cuddy and House. Even though there was no reason to, Cuddy blushed and moved away from the bedside to pull around the food tray for House.

It was then Cuddy noticed he was watching Rachel with a bit of confusion. She'd seen that look before and assured him, keeping her voice quiet so her daughter wouldn't hear, "You didn't hallucinate."

"Momma said I could have pizza, House," Rachel said then, holding up the box.

"Pepperoni?" House regrouped.

Rachel nodded.

He cocked his head and looked down at her, raising his eyebrow high and asking. "You sharing?"

A bright smile burst across Rachel's face. "Yes, silly. Momma's gonna have some, too."

Both sets of eyes turned to Cuddy, but it was House who spoke, his tone incredulous, "You don't say?"

"Don't worry," Stacy said to Cuddy as she neared. "I found you a vegetarian one." She held a smaller pizza box.

"Vegetarian pizza? I'm pretty sure that's just a box of pure evil," House scoffed dramatically from the bed.

Rachel giggled. Cuddy rolled her eyes. Stacy told him to shut up as she handed off the box to Cuddy with an order to "go eat."

Leaving Stacy to put the big box up where House could eat, Cuddy sat in the chair by the bed and opened the box. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the smell of the contents did a number on her olfactory senses. It even looked appetizing, topped with fresh spinach, tomato slices, and herbs. She might have to change her opinion on pizza — at least for today.

"I wanna sit with House."

Rachel's request drew Cuddy's attention away from the food to her daughter who stood at the bedside, looking as if she was about to climb up. Cuddy quickly sat her food aside, onto the other chair, and moved to catch Rachel before she could do so.

"House's leg is hurt, honey," Cuddy told her. "We have to be careful."

"You can put her up here."

House's words surprised her. Much as he'd been a playmate with Rachel at times, he'd also been exceptionally cautious about his leg around a child who liked to jump on and run into everything.

"You're sure?" Cuddy asked.

He looked at Rachel.

"You're not going to jump on me, are you?"

Rachel shook her head.

He cast a skeptical look from under his brow at her. "Promise?"

Another nod. "Promise."

"Okay. Bring the napkins."

And that was it.

Cuddy shook her head in amusement and helped her daughter settle into a safe place on the bed then gave her a handful of napkins, which Rachel promptly held out to House.

He took them then pulled out a big slice and folded it to take a big bite. "That's fantastic!" he exclaimed even though his mouth was full. It made Rachel laugh and reach for her own piece.

Cuddy watched Stacy lend a hand, laying a napkin across Rachel's lap then helping to tear the piece into a size easier for little hands to manage.

Once the two on the bed were settled, Stacy passed out water bottles and came over and sat beside Cuddy.

"Get any rest?" Stacy asked as Cuddy picked up a piece of her own pizza.

"Some," Cuddy replied and held out the box to Stacy to see if she wanted to share.

Stacy shook her head. "I have a lunch appointment."

That caught House's ear. "About me?" he asked.

"We'll talk later," Stacy replied in a tone that said the subject would be addressed later. House wisely heeded her direction but Cuddy could tell he wanted to talk about it. Cuddy wanted to know Stacy's plans, too, but with Rachel in the room, it probably wasn't a good idea.

"She's a great kid," Stacy said to Cuddy, who couldn't help but smile with pride.

Nodding and wiping her mouth with a napkin, Cuddy agreed, "I'm lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," came House's voice, from around a mouthful of pizza. "It's called real parenting."

It was said so matter-of-factly but his gaze communicated anything but matter-of-fact. It was fixed pointedly on Cuddy, telegraphing that he meant every word he'd said, and not clinically. He'd never actually complimented her on that aspect of her life, at least not so directly and definitely not in front of anyone else.

Cuddy didn't know what to say but Stacy saved her from trying to find words, asking House curiously, "And what is _real_ parenting, exactly?"

"Unconditional love and nurturing," he said as he continued to eat. "Providing necessities, education, and a safe environment. Constructive guidance, building a sense of self-worth and independence. Anything else is abuse or neglect, which is its own form of abuse."

"And when did this come to you?" Stacy asked, sounding dumbfounded. It made Cuddy wonder if they'd ever discussed having children when they were together, if Stacy'd ever met House's father or if House had ever talked about his childhood.

House stopped eating and wiped his mouth on a napkin. Then he answered in jaw-dropping and heart-rending fashion, his expression at once stoic and grave.

"During a disciplinary ice bath when I was eight years old."


	38. Chapter 38

Brace yourselves...

* * *

**Part 38**

After House's ice-bath confession, Cuddy was going to make sure the water was at a comfortable temperature for him while she waited for the orderly to help him into the shower.

The patient showers weren't private cubicles like the staff had, but a larger room with curtained areas. Right now, they had it to themselves, which Cuddy knew House would appreciate.

For all the chest-thumping and attention-getting antics, he was really a private man. He was also a proud one — and not in the way people usually thought of him.

No, it wasn't ego that fueled his dislike of wheelchairs. It was what the chair represented, which is why it had been so damned difficult to get him to concede to use one instead of walking to the elevator and taking it down a floor to the shower.

Cuddy's had nixed his plans immediately, but offered him a compromise: He could walk from the bed to the wheelchair by the door, with her help, and then let the orderly assist him from the wheelchair to the chair they had set up for him in the shower.

He hadn't been happy about it but even he'd conceded, albeit silently, that he had no choice after his leg had nearly collapsed five times in the ten steps it'd taken him to get to the wheelchair with only her hand to support him. He could be so damned stubborn but she understood his need for self-sufficiency. His words just a while earlier had shed light on the part of his psyche that fueled that need.

To say Stacy had been shocked at the confession was an understatement. Cuddy on the other hand, hadn't been so much shocked as pissed off. Yes, it had taken her aback to know the nature of the cruelty he'd suffered at his father's whim, but more than anything she wanted to go back in time to that dinner with House's parents and shove that fork into the old bastard's eye. Maybe both of them.

Cuddy's anger surged again just thinking about it, but she put a damper on it and set the bag, which Thirteen had brought back from Baltimore, on the bench outside the shower.

Rachel was with Thirteen now, off to find a present for House. The young woman hadn't looked surprised when Cuddy had asked her to take Rachel out of the hospital for a while. She'd just dropped by to check in on House, but had taken Cuddy's request in stride, saying she'd take Rachel to the park, too. Cuddy was quickly understanding what House and Wilson admired about her.

Moving around House and the orderly, Cuddy went to turn the water on. It was still warming when the duo reached her. House looked miserable again, but nothing like yesterday.

"How's your pain?" she asked as the orderly helped him sit.

"It's there," House said, looking up at her. The orderly started to help him undress, but House pushed the man's hands away.

"It's okay," Cuddy told the orderly. "I'll take it from here."

The man looked at her, uncertain, then at House skeptically.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She'd seen that happen numerous times since yesterday and especially in their trip from his room to here. She'd had enough.

"Oh for God's sake, he's not going to kill me," she said in exasperation then shooed the man away with a wave of her hand, calling out as he retreated, "Feel free to spread the word on that."

"You're not afraid that might get twisted around in the rumor mill?" House asked.

Cuddy looked at him fondly, knowing he'd once thrived on the rumor mill, had even fueled it at times.

"Well, unless they're complete idiots, they know I can outrun you."

At her words, he looked down and reached to rub his leg. Cuddy dropped into a squat in front of him and caught his hand and gaze. He looked pained, and not just physically.

"That one never gets old, does it?"

Cuddy shook her head, seeing that her words'd had an effect she hadn't anticipated.

"It was insensitive," she said and wondered how many times over the years she'd hurt him like this and not realized it, or cared because he was being an ass at the time. She feared it was too many times but he'd made it so damned hard to tell. She could see it now, though, and sought to soothe the wound she'd unintentionally inflicted.

Releasing his hand, Cuddy touched his cheek then reached for the ties on the gown. She pulled them loose one at a time, then eased onto her knees and pushed the material back over and around his shoulders, her hands never losing contact with his skin.

He watched her as she did it. She could feel his eyes on her when she glided one hand along his arm. He shifted drew his arm out of the material. They worked in concert on the other side and to pull the garment free. Cuddy tossed it to the floor behind her.

Without a word, she reached then for the waistband of his underwear and eased it down. His eyes fell shut when she worked them down over his injury, which was wrapped in a compression bandage and taped off with plastic. She watched him wince here and there but he didn't make a sound.

After tossing the fashion atrocity back over with the gown, Cuddy touched his knees. When he looked at her, she moved her hands to the arms of the chair and pushed herself up.

"I'll get your things," she said and went out to the bag. She pulled out the toiletries kit that had ended up in the storage unit with his other things and took it back into the shower. She set it on the floor, away from the fall of water, and extracted his shampoo.

Unhooking the hand-held showerhead from the wall, Cuddy stepped up behind House and ran her fingers through his hair, drawing through the mussed strands of gray and brown. He leaned his head back in response, and she watched his eyes fall shut when she guided the water to flow over his scalp then forward slowly to cascade down over his face.

Cuddy watched his features smooth beneath the water's caress. She saw his relief and pleasure and … surrender. So much vulnerability. So much trust. This is why Cuddy'd made the orderly to leave. House needed this. She needed this. It was a healing of wounds, a healing of each other, and them.

It was with reluctance that Cuddy gave up the view and eased the showerhead back to let the water slide down his back and sides, then around to his arms and chest. She placed the handle in his hand when he reached for her. He held it while she brought some of his shampoo to a lather and worked it into his thinning hair. She massaged his scalp from brow to neck, around his ears and to the back of his skull.

Cuddy hadn't been able to take this kind of time with him in Scranton. The cramped bathroom in that motel room wouldn't have allowed them this, and his body wouldn't have either. But here, they had relative comfort so she took advantage of it, letting herself enjoy his being so unguarded, so receptive to her in a way he'd rarely been in the past.

She wasn't his doctor right now. She was the woman who loved him … who would always love him.

Taking the showerhead from him, Cuddy guided his head back again and slowly rinsed the foam away. She cupped her hand against his brow to keep the soap from running down into his eyes then followed the water with her fingers as she moved it back over his scalp down to the nape of his neck.

He let out a soft sound. She smiled.

Hooking the showerhead over the arm of the chair, she retrieved his body soap and smoothed it over his shoulders. She slicked him with the sandalwood-scented concoction, palms and fingers pressing into muscles tense from days of pain. She worked her way down, thumbs rubbing along either side of his spine, drawing a groan from him.

The familiar sound sent shivers down her spine. It was primal and deep, a sound no other man but him had made under her hands … or while in her body.

"House," she whispered and pushed her hands smoothly down to the base of his spine, then drew them back up. Then down again, circling to wash the full expanse of his back. Then down further.

"Cuddy…"

Cuddy just shushed him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She felt him tremble.

"Okay?"

He nodded but reached a hand back to her. She took it and let him lace their fingers and hold on when she took the showerhead again and slowly washed the soap away from his skin.

When she moved around in front of him, his hands touched the hem of the scrub top she wore, a silent request in his gaze. Cuddy granted it, slowly stripping the garment up and off, leaving her clad in a white tank top that left little to the imagination now that it was wet. She dropped the pink top to the floor in front of her than knelt again, using it to cushion her knees.

Filling her hands with soap again, she slowly washed one of his arms, then the other. She took her time with his hands, caring for each finger and knuckle, his palm and wrists. She did the same for his feet and legs, working carefully around his injured thigh.

Just like in Scranton, he watched her. He was still and compliant and yet there was an intensity about him. A heady sensuality flowed off him that further ensnared her and drew her closer to him when her hands moved to his neck and glided slowly downward to his clavicles. She stroked his chest and abdomen, leaving suds in her wake as she made her way to his hips then back inward.

She watched his eyes fall shut when she began washing his sex. His body didn't respond and she saw it frustrate him, a tightening in his jaw giving him away.

"That's not what this is about," she said softly, hoping to ease him.

It prompted him to look at her again. Then he was taking her face in his hands and drawing her up to him even as he bowed.

There, in the warmth of the shower, he kissed her softly. His parted lips brushed against hers, pressed lightly then moved on, only to come back. Time and again, until she was melting against him in a surrender of her own.


	39. Chapter 39

Tissue warning...

* * *

**Part 39**

Cuddy had no idea how long she'd been sitting in the floor of the shower cradled between House's legs, but it had definitely been longer than she should have allowed. Even still, she couldn't bring herself to move just yet because she didn't want to be anywhere else.

Her head laying on his good thigh, she waited for him to let her know when he was ready, trusting him to know when that was. In the meantime, she just closed her eyes and let herself be lulled by the gentle, repeated drawing of his fingers through her hair.

When he'd kissed her just a bit ago, she'd lost her hold on her tears and he'd held her close, not saying a word as she cried herself out. When she'd finally slumped to the floor and tried to turn her back to him, he hadn't let her. He'd just guided her to where she was now and let her be.

This. Just being together like this was peaceful, and it was something that they hadn't had the first time around. There'd been too many expectations and too much trepidation for this kind of stillness and prolonged vulnerability.

But where she'd feared it before she embraced it now.

Tilting her head, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were watchful as always.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her heart full and fluttering with feelings for him.

He smiled a little.

"That you're beautiful."

Cuddy smiled a little, too.

"I don't want to move," she confessed.

"I know."

Lifting an arm, she reached and laid her hand just below the bandage on his leg. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

It was honest and enough incentive for Cuddy to finally move. She noticed the soap residue on his skin and smiled at him.

"We need to wash you off," she said then pushed herself up and went to get the showerhead.

It had fallen away from the chair and was now dangling, the spray the only thing keeping it from clattering against the wall. Cuddy tested the temperature before bringing it over and helping him rinse off the soap that had been forgotten as other, more important things overtook them.

Once he was clean, Cuddy retrieved the towels from the bench in the other room. She draped one around his shoulders while she dried his hair and then his chest and legs. Moving around behind him, she had him lean forward so she could dry his back. That done, she considered calling the orderly back to help get House to the other room so he could get dressed but decided against it when she glanced down at herself. She had no interest in giving him, or anyone else, a peep show and the tank was even more transparent than before.

"Think you can make it to the bench," she asked House.

He looked then nodded.

"Okay, wait just a minute and I'll help you."

Heading back to the bench, she grabbed another of the clean towels and laid it out for him. She went back to him then and helped him stand. He'd sat too long, so even his good leg was unsteady at first. Instead of standing at his side, she ended up in front of him with his hands on her shoulders to steady himself.

Once he had his bearings, he nodded. She moved to his right side then and helped him limp his way to the bench. He sank heavily down when they reached it.

"You need to lay down," she observed.

He just nodded in response and hung his head. She chided herself for delaying getting him back to the room but she refused to feel guilty about it. What had happened had needed to happen, for both of them.

While he caught his breath, Cuddy went back into the shower and packed up his toiletries bag. When she came back, she set it on the other bench then reached into the bigger bag.

"I have something for you," she told him and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs.

She tossed them to him when he looked up. He caught them and held them up, declared, "I take it back. There is a god and her name is Cuddy."

Cuddy smiled. "If I was a deity, I'd personally call down fire from the heavens to destroy every pair of those other kind in existence."

He flashed a grin then bent to put the underwear on. Just as quickly he stopped, his grin becoming a grimace when the movement put pressure on his leg. His breath hissed through his teeth.

Cuddy went to him and knelt to help him. "You know, I personally think you just like me on my knees," she said, hoping to get another smile out of him. She had some success.

"I can see Patty and Selma better from this angle," he admitted.

She smirked up at him as she pulled the briefs up to his knees. "You like them at any angle."

"I'm really liking them right now," he countered. "Is it cold in here? Cause I'm thinking it's not and if it's not, well, then…"

_And … he's back._

Cuddy couldn't help but laugh. She knew no one else in the world would ever understand why she would laugh or why she would love him. He was an ass, but an endearing one.

"Charmer," she shot back and let him take over in pulling up his underwear.

Sitting back on her heels, Cuddy let him ease them up over his injury and his other leg. When it came time to pull them up the rest of the way, he glanced at her. Seeing her ready, he braced his hands on the bench and pushed up with his good leg, giving Cuddy just enough room to reach and slide the fabric around his hips and up. She left him to situate himself then brought his toiletries to him. He dug out his deodorant and put it on then pulled out his beard trimmer.

"Is there an outlet in here?" he asked.

Cuddy nodded toward the wall behind him. "Down there, I think."

He turned slightly and looked down between the bench and wall.

"See one?"

"Yeah," he answered.

Rising, Cuddy went over and plugged the device into the outlet. "Straddle the bench," she told him, knowing he was going to need a hand since there was no mirror. He did as she directed and she grabbed one of the damp towels and draped it around his neck.

Cuddy straddled the bench then and held her hand out for the trimmer. He gave it to her and thanked her.

"Thank me later," Cuddy said with a smile. "I haven't done this in a while."

"I trust you."

Three words. So simple but with as much meaning, if not more, than the three so many coveted. He had reeled her in more than once with those. They touched her now, but then again they always did.

"I know," she said softly then leaned in and went to work.

He wasn't completely unkempt, so it didn't take long to get the growth back into shape. When she finished, he ran his fingers over his cheeks and jaw, around his chin and mouth, feeling her handiwork.

"Will it do?"

He nodded then took the trimmer when she gave it back to him. While he packed it away and cleaned up after them, she went to the bag and pulled out another surprise for him. She took it over and unfurled it in front of him. His eyes shot up to hers when he saw it. There was only one way she would have his favorite of a nearly dozen Rolling Stones tees, and he deduced it immediately but sought confirmation.

"Wilson?"

She nodded and let him take the shirt from her. He held it almost reverently and looked at it for several long moments before shrugging it on. When it settled on his body, he took a deep breath and looked back up at her. There was a question in his eyes, one that she wanted to answer but it needed to wait until later.

"We'll talk," she told him then turned back to get a pair of his pajama bottoms from the bag.

"Thought you'd prefer these to the gown," she said as she knelt yet one more time to help him. She didn't offer him socks, knowing they were hazardous without shoes for someone with his condition.

Once his bottom half was dressed, Cuddy went to get the other t-shirt she'd seen in the bag then packed everything else back in, leaving the towels and her scrub top for housekeeping to contend with. She then shrugged into the t-shirt and turned around. She watched a smile spread across House's face.

"You know, it's pretty obvious whose shirt that is," he said, nodding toward her.

Cuddy looked down and wished she hadn't. He was right. There was absolutely _no_ way the people on the other side of the door would think this belonged to her. She didn't care on some level and wouldn't care at all if things were different but they were still trying to maintain some semblance of a charade and this was not going to help on that front. At all.

_Trenton Monster Truck Rally_, Cuddy groaned inwardly and rubbed her hand across her brow.

"Hey."

Cuddy looked at House and saw him holding his hand out to her. She took hold of it and he gave her fingers a squeeze of understanding. His eyes communicated the same.

"It'll be all right," he said softly and with a confidence she wished she felt.

She wasn't sure anything was going to be all right. They didn't know what was waiting for them with his leg, with his legal case. The tee shirt was nothing when facing that ocean of uncertainty and…

"Stop."

House brought her thoughts up short, drawing her attention back to him and out of the spiral of worry. He pulled her to him and she went. He set his hands on her waist when she stopped in front of him.

"You can't control it. You can't change it. You can't worry it away. You can't run from it."

Cuddy felt tears coming on again. It was both comforting and frightening to be known so well. He saw everything and possessed a life wisdom that often went unnoticed, even by her. But not right now.

"Here. Now. This … _This_ is real," he said, his gaze open and earnest. "The rest is fear. We've both lived in it too long and it's time to stop."

Cuddy shook her head. She heard him but…

"I don't know how to not be afraid," she told him, her heart aching with the truth of it. "There's so much we still don't know and I'm terrified of what's around the corner."

"I am."

Cuddy's breath fled. Was he saying... What he'd just said… It was all-encompassing… There were too many unknowns…

Shaking her head, tears welling, Cuddy whispered, "You can't promise that."

Frustration crept across his face, filled his blue eyes. "I'm not making a promise I can't keep," he clarified. "I'm telling you I am around the corner. I have _always_ been around the corner. You just have to stop walking and quit looking for the next one."

When she didn't speak, he caught her hands in his, caressed them gently.

"I'm right here, Cuddy, at _this_ corner," he said, his voice soft and filled with purpose. "And I'll be around the next one if I have to be because I want to walk with you. You just have to stop and take my hand."

House was pleading with her to listen to him, to hear him and she did hear. God, did she hear. It tore her heart asunder and stopped her in her tracks, made her look at her choices, not just in the distant past but in the near.

She'd been a fool, an absolute fool and he'd just called her on it.

She'd been looking for him still, even since Scranton, even since yesterday afternoon. But she'd missed that he was already there. She'd walked on, anticipating the next corner, the next hurdle, the next fear, the next problem she'd have to fix, the next … everything. She'd seen everything but what was right in front of her and had been for more years than she could count. She'd missed the man who needed her as much as she needed him, standing there with his hand out, waiting.

Lacing her fingers with his, Cuddy held tightly to him as tears burned hot trails down her face. She didn't want to miss him any more and she told him so, whispering softly, "I won't let go."


	40. Chapter 40

HBIC alert...

* * *

**Part 40**

With a plastered-on smile, Cuddy looked back at the group of white-coated doctors in the hall before ducking into House's room. Once inside, she let out the sigh she'd been holding in for the last fifteen minutes.

House looked up at her from where he was sitting on the side of the bed, holding an ice pack to his thigh.

"What?"

"This is insane," she said as she moved farther into the room, toward the bed. The stupid smile dissolved the instant she was concealed by the blinds that covered the glass wall.

"What is?" he frowned.

"They're afraid to come in here," she said, shaking her head.

"Let me guess," House began. "They are in fear for their lives? I thought they were supposed to be in fear for yours?"

Cuddy just looked at him. "Please, House. This is important."

It was, in fact, vital. Everything was set to do a biopsy on the tumor in his leg in a few hours and they needed to consult with an array of specialists, from oncologists to general surgeons, to find out the best way to deal with the damned mass, regardless of whether it was benign or malignant.

House's expression shifted immediately to one of concern. "What is it?"

One hand on her hip, she raised her other arm and gestured toward where she'd left the pack of physicians before letting the limb drop wearily back down to her side.

"I've got eight doctors out there who are completely terrified to walk into this room because they, and I quote, 'didn't go through seven years of medical school to be insulted by a juvenile jackass who thinks he's smarter than everyone else'."

"Then they shouldn't be doctors," House declared. Almost immediately, he looked down at his leg. Then he continued. "I avoided patients because it was messy and took my focus away from the medicine, which is what they needed from me."

Cuddy shook her head. "You don't like people. You love the medicine. It's what you needed."

"Yes," he admitted without hesitation then looked up at her. His expression held a brutal honesty and so did his words. "People are idiots. The medicine is what saves lives, not bedside manner. Whether or not I, or they," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the door, "like the patient is irrelevant."

"And what about Wilson?"

Cuddy watched grief drop over him like a shroud and immediately regretted her words.

"He was my friend, and he wanted to die."

That was all he said, no more, no less, and yet Cuddy felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

Closing her eyes, Cuddy told him, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied and Cuddy looked at him again. "I'm not the kind of doctor he was and you are. Probably not even the kind they are," he continued, gesturing again to the door.

"But you do care," Cuddy asserted and loved that he didn't deny it. In the past, he would have.

Walking up to him, Cuddy grazed her fingers from his temple down to his jaw while he gazed up at her.

"You have a gift, House… something those people out there will never have," she told him. "And they'll never see or understand the personal cost of it." She paused then added softly, "But Wilson did, and I do." She smiled then, tenderly. "And I know why you hide it."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked and looked infinitely vulnerable when he did. He really wanted her to tell him, which told her that he was concerned about what he was going to hear.

Cuddy's protective instincts stirred. She couldn't protect him from the truth, but she wouldn't stop him from protecting himself from the idiots in the hall, even if it bruised their egos. He had that right, even if no one but her understood the way he did it.

Running her fingers through his hair, she just smiled at him and told him simply, "Just try not to go overboard."

He nodded and she knew that was as much as she'd get out of him at the moment. She knew he needed to prepare himself for the conversation, so she told him, "I'll buy you a few minutes before I let them in."

He thanked her as she moved, her hand drifting away from him slowly.

Back out in the hall, Cuddy approached the doctors who were waiting not-so-patiently for her.

"Did you muzzle him?"

Both the doctor's words and tone set Cuddy's teeth on edge. She had given House hell for years, stood toe-to-toe with him more times than they could possibly imagine, but that had been as his boss. Right now, he was a patient. Her patient, and theirs, so she decided to remind them of that and considered that if the opportunity presented itself and it became necessary, she'd remind them of exactly _who and what_ their patient was.

"As I said before, I understand your … misgivings," Cuddy began, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible. "Dr. House is not an easy patient, he will never be an easy patient. But he is yours, and he's mine—"

"Why is he your patient exactly?"

Cuddy gritted her teeth and forced herself to take a deep breath. She needed to get a grip on her rising ire or she was going to unload on them. She couldn't believe they were still doing this, not fifteen minutes after they'd already discussed what was needed.

Cuddy aimed for diplomatic when she spoke again but fell below the mark, hitting somewhere between tolerant and slightly civil.

"Not that it's relevant," she said to the doctor who'd asked the question. "But Greg House has been my patient for longer than you've been practicing medicine. I know his medical history better than anyone, which is why I'm here."

Seeing her target back off, Cuddy took yet another deep breath then forged ahead.

"No one here knows better than I do how he can be, but he's not going to kill you—"

"Or drive a car into your house."

It came from somewhere near the back of the group, said under the breath so Cuddy hadn't seen the culprit. Which was probably a good thing for them. As it was, it meant playing nice was over.

"Look," she said, ditching any attempt at civility at all. "You're doctors. You took an oath. You have a patient with a complex medical situation that requires a broad presentation and analysis of treatment options. That's why you're here. No one is asking you to like him or be his friend."

Seeing a movement out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy glanced over to see Chase and Foreman several feet away. They looked like they'd just arrived. Foreman's eyebrows were raised in question. Cuddy pointed to him and Chase when she continued addressing her reluctant audience.

"Your Dean of Medicine and Head of Diagnostics can tell you that as impossible as House can be, you'll never encounter anyone else like him in medicine in your lifetime."

Feeling charged, Cuddy pushed forward, every syllable clipped with a conviction she hadn't felt in a long time, that she'd only ever felt when she was talking about or with House.

"Yes, he'll push you," she told them bluntly. "Yes, he'll insult you. He'll do whatever he has to do to get the best out of you, to get the answers he needs to do what he does. You might not like it. Hell, you won't like it," Cuddy conceded with a dry laugh then, inspiration striking, told them, "Bring it on. Feel free to call him a jackass, a jerk, or whatever else comes to mind. Trust me, he's been called everything at one time or another by me and others, so you're not going to hurt his feelings. But this… this… _crap … _could kill him," she said sternly. "So, _doctors_, I suggest you suck it up, put on your big-boy and big-girl pants, get in there and take the lumps … and _learn_. Because if you pay attention you will, from a man who's widely acknowledged to possess the greatest medical mind of a generation."

"She's right." It was Chase.

Foreman nodded as he looked at the gathered staff. "She is."

Apparently their endorsement was the last push the doctors needed, because they filed past her toward House's room.

Cuddy nodded her thanks to Foreman and Chase and followed, stopping just inside the doorway. From there, she caught House's attention, smiled, and said four words that made his eyes flare bright.

"The gloves are off."


	41. Chapter 41

**Part 41**

Cuddy's heart felt full of good things. She owed them to the scene playing out in front of her, on the other side of the glass, between the two people she loved most.

Rachel was sitting on the bed, like she had at lunch the day before, while House was leaned back against a pillow. The food tray was between them, along with a deck of cards and stacks of poker chips. He was twirling an unlit cigar with one hand and wore a stupid dealer visor, complete with the clear, green plastic bill. Rachel had started out with a visor but it kept falling off so now it was on the bed by House's foot.

They didn't know Cuddy was watching. She'd stumbled upon them a bit ago and, not wanting to disrupt it, she'd taken a seat on a bench in the hall, just out of direct line of sight so she could enjoy the unguarded moment.

Cuddy loved watching their faces, seeing House make exaggerated expressions that would invariably draw a laugh or mirroring look from her daughter. He'd make a show of putting down a card and Rachel would do the same.

She had no idea where they'd gotten all the stuff. If Wilson had been around, she'd have pegged him for the source. Ultimately it didn't matter, though. What mattered was the connection she saw reigniting between her child and the only man who'd ever really been a part of her life in any significant way. He was certainly the only man Rachel had ever seen Cuddy love.

"Is he teaching her poker?"

The soft question from Stacy Warner carried the faint accent of someone from North Carolina. It wasn't always there, though.

Cuddy smiled but didn't look away from the scene. "Yes," she said as Stacy joined her on the bench. "The corruption of my daughter continues."

"I suppose there are worse things he could teach her," Stacy said.

"Yes," Cuddy replied softly. There were definitely worse things than a crude pirate cartoon, ice cream, pizza, and poker that House could introduce into Rachel's life. But Cuddy didn't want to think about those. He was clean and sober, much like he'd been after he'd returned from his stay in Mayfield, only more focused and determined now.

Their conversation in the showers yesterday had quashed the few, unacknowledged doubts Cuddy'd had about whether or not he'd changed. He had changed. More aptly, he'd grown up. He was still, of course, and would always be … House. But there was a maturity in him now that didn't get pitched out the window when the first opportunity to go adolescent presented itself. He stayed the course, even when he was being silly or an ass.

What's more, he was doing exactly what she'd once accused of him never being able to do — to be there for her. He was the one facing a health crisis and jail time, and yet it had been her needs he'd met. He hadn't worried about his leg, the tumor, the fact he was probably going to prison at some point. He'd just reached and pulled her back from the brink of her own version of self-destruction and given her not what she wanted…

_But you might just get what you need,_ Cuddy mused as she watched Rachel reach across the table to pinch House's nose.

He scrunched up his face and began to act like he was going to cry, which prompted Rachel to reach for him again, this time catching his face in her little hands and pulling him toward her. He let her believe she had the strength and was kissed firmly on the cheek for it. He beamed at Rachel, who sat back satisfied then began rearranging the chips she'd scattered during the exchange.

Leaning her head back against the wall, Cuddy sighed in contentment, "House."

"You never call him Greg."

The observation caused Cuddy to smile. She cast a quick look over at the woman who made it.

"I have … a few times," she confessed, but didn't elaborate under what circumstances she'd done so. Instead, she looked back at House and shared a memory.

"The first time I met him," she said softly, "he introduced himself as House. No first name. Within a half-hour, it had become an expletive. Then it was just who he was. It's who he is."

"How is he?"

"In pain," Cuddy replied, knowing that despite the playfulness he was exhibiting at the moment that his leg still hurt. It always hurt. The ketamine hadn't helped this time. Maybe he hadn't gotten enough or it just wasn't meant to be the cure he'd once hoped it would be.

"Have you heard anything?"

Cuddy shook her head. "They did the biopsy a couple hours ago. We're waiting for the results and an MRI. We'll decide on a course of treatment based on what they reveal."

"You've already talked about treatment options then?" Stacy asked.

"We conferenced this morning with the surgeons and oncologists," Cuddy replied.

"How many of them left in tears?"

Cuddy cut an amused look at Stacy. His former girlfriend knew how he worked.

"No tears, but three did flee in the first ten minutes," Cuddy told her. "But he'd already decided we didn't need them from the first answers they gave. And he was right."

"He's rather annoying that way."

Cuddy gave a soft laugh and nodded. It _was_ annoying how often he was right, but she didn't question his medical judgement. He might play fast and loose with ethics and rules, but ultimately, he made uncannily accurate intuitive choices. He had definitely made some foolhardy choices in regards to his own health in the past but he had _rarely _been wrong about the medicine.

He had not been wrong in his assessment today.

Quoting A&P texts to a genius-level, veteran, board-certified diagnostician with an eidetic memory was a bad A-game. He could get that from a third-year undergrad. The others had fared better and given him some serious approaches to consider, which he would do.

Cuddy had been pleased when House'd said he wanted to bring in Chase and Foreman to discuss things after the biopsy and MRI results were in.

Catching sight of Stacy's briefcase, Cuddy wondered if there was any news on House's case. His medical needs had consumed her since they'd arrived at the hospital, understandably, but his legal situation was never really far from her mind either. At this point, she'd practically made a career out of watching over him.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked Stacy

The lawyer shook her head. "The legal system is a slug."

"Your lunch yesterday?"

Stacy shook her head again, but it wasn't an indication that things had gone badly because it also came with a knowing smile that relieved some of Cuddy's worry.

"Lisa, I know that worrying about Greg is a full-time job, but you can't carry it all. And I know that the man he is today wouldn't want you to," Stacy said and it sounded to Cuddy as if this conversation had been expected. It probably had been

"I know," Cuddy acknowledged and let Stacy take her hand in commiseration.

"Concentrate on the medicine," Stacy directed, giving the advice of a friend. "The law is my area of expertise so leave that to me. I promise you his case is my top priority. In fact, it's my only case right now so I can make sure he gets what he needs."

Stacy squeezed Cuddy's fingers then and looked at her with a bittersweet happiness that Cuddy could not fathom the reason for until the woman spoke again, her accent thicker, her voice infinitely soft and filled with emotion.

"I'm not the one he needs here, Lisa … I'm not _who_ he needs … I never really was"


	42. Chapter 42

**Part 42**

Cuddy rocked a sleeping Rachel in her arms while she waited for House's MRI to complete. She sat at the back of the technician booth, out of the way of the team running the diagnostic, but where she could see the imagery as it came up.

Robert Chase was standing beside her, watching, too, his sharp eyes on the screens.

As for House, she could see him on the display above the others. The patient camera showed his lean face, but his eyes were covered with a mask designed to shut out light. He also had in earplugs to help mute the heavy thunk and incessant click of the scanner.

They were about 25 minutes into a scan, which was expected to take another 15 minutes to complete. It was an interminable amount of time to find out if the tumor was isolated to his leg or if there were others in his body. So far, the imaging hadn't revealed anything but they still had the lower part of his body to go, including his legs.

When they finally reached his thigh, Cuddy rose and moved closer to the screens. Chase did the same but also bent and looked even closer than she did.

"Any size change?" Cuddy asked, knowing that if it were bigger the likelihood of malignancy was higher. No change didn't rule it out, but it would make Cuddy feel a bit better knowing that it hadn't.

"Doesn't look like it," Chase said, "But we'll need to review closer to say for sure. The biopsy will be the better diagnostic measure for malignancy."

Cuddy nodded. She was aware of that but didn't take exception to Chase's evaluation. Judging by his tone of voice, he'd been talking more to himself than anyone else.

"Some infiltration," he said, his finger coming up and touching the display.

"How bad?" Cuddy asked.

Cuddy watched Chase shake his head. "Hard to tell," he said then straightened and looked at her. "The oncologists and surgeons do a review. But if anyone will be able to see the true extent of it, it'll be House. I'll make sure he gets the results right away."

Cuddy nodded in agreement. House saw things that everyone else missed. His diagnostic prowess was rooted in his ability to do just that. No matter what he saw, though, the situation was daunting.

Benign or malignant, soft-tissue tumors could grow aggressively into the tissues around them. House simply didn't have a normal presentation of tissue in that thigh, which was going to complicate treatment, no matter what they did. It had already complicated his situation. The compartment syndrome episode proof enough and then some, and it remained a threat as long as the damned tumor was in there. The thing needed to come out but it wasn't as simple as just cutting into him and taking it out. Which is why House wanted every bit of data he could get. The marvel of his mind would collate the scan and biopsy results, the recommendations from the morning's consult, and whatever else he could find in his own research, which he would begin once they returned to his room.

When the radiology techs had come to get him for the scan, House had requested computer access to the hospital's internal library of medicine. Cuddy had put in the request for him but was also going to give him access to the Johns Hopkins library with her credentials. The more information he had the better.

Shifting Rachel to a bit more comfortable position, Cuddy continued to watch the remainder of the scan and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't reveal any further tumors. _Just the one._

"That's good news," Chase said, making Cuddy realize she'd said it aloud.

"Yes," she concurred and stepped back to lean against the wall. She suddenly felt very tired, making her realize exactly how worried she'd been about this scan. The biopsy results were still to come, but no systemic involvement was a very good thing.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

"Hmmm?"

Cuddy looked at Chase. He looked … timid.

"House may kill me for saying this, but you're welcome to my place if you need a break from the hospital. I have an extra room. You and the munchkin could get some real rest."

The offer explained the timidity, but she wasn't sure she could accept. "Thank you," she told him, adding, "I'll think about it."

"Sure," he said with a bob of his head and began talking to the techs.

The scan now complete, Cuddy made her way out to House. The bed was sliding slowly out of the tube and he was already pulling out the earplugs and removing the mask.

"How'd I do?" he asked as if it he'd just given a performance.

A little bit of a smile emerging, she complimented, "Stillest I've ever seen you."

"Mime school really paid off," he returned with a smirk, then asked the hard question, "What did you see?"

"No metastasis."

"Just the one then," he said then began sitting up, slowly.

Cuddy stepped back to give him room to swing his legs over the side. He maneuvered the right carefully with his hands, wincing as he did so.

"Chase couldn't tell the level of infiltration, but he'll bring you the scan," Cuddy told him.

"Good." House nodded then looked at Rachel. "She sleep through it all?"

"Yes."

House looked at her then. "You should get some sleep."

Cuddy smiled. "Funny you should say that. Chase just offered me his bed … well, a bed, in his house."

House grinned mischievously. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Don't," Cuddy said, even as she laughed at the thought of exactly how much fun he would have with Chase over it. "He was being nice."

"I know," House said, his grin becoming a soft smile. "You should take him up on the offer."

Cuddy raised her eyebrow at him. "You're serious?"

"Yeah," he said, looking down and then back up at her. His eyes definitely said he was serious. "That cot they gave you is akin to a torture device. I've always suspected they were designed by a cult of sadistic orthopedists with an insidious mission to increase their specialty's marketshare of patients."

After the last couple nights on one of those cots, Cuddy thought there might be merit to his suspicions. And the thought of a night's rest in a real bed, not to mention a hot shower in a non-communal facility, sounded good. It would be good for Rachel, too. Since arriving, her daughter had spent time with people who were veritable strangers to her and the rest of it in a hospital room.

Still, it was Chase, a former employee and a bachelor with a reputation. A female colleague would be better, but Cuddy didn't want to crash land on Thirteen and her partner, especially since they hadn't offered. Stacy lived an hour away, which was too far should Cuddy be needed in a hurry, and she didn't want to make things awkward with Mark. That left a hotel as the only reasonable option and there were several not too far from the hospital.

"I think it's better if I find a room," she informed House.

"Okay," he agreed readily, making her smirk. He hadn't _really_ wanted her to take Chase's offer.

Still, Cuddy wanted to be sure that he was really okay with her going for the night. She'd endure the cot and Rachel, well, kids could sleep anywhere, if he wanted her to stay. While his situation didn't appear to be critical at the moment, and he was more than capable of taking care of himself, things were still awkward with the hospital staff. She'd been both barrier and bridge where that was concerned and she'd be leaving him to face that alone.

"If you want me to stay…"

He shook his head.

"It's not a matter of what I want. You know that I always want you with me," he told her. "But you need to rest and you're not doing that here. You need a break. So does the kid."

He was being blatantly honest with her so she was going to be the same with him.

"Some of the staff may be difficult," she stated plainly.

"I'm a big boy," he assured her then teased, "But just in case, will you have Foreman or Chase come by to see if I need a change?"

"Ass," she replied.

"Yes, please!"

His expression was one of mock exuberance — but not too mock. He was House, after all.

Which is why Cuddy fixed him with a glare and a smile and said softly, "Later … big boy."


	43. Chapter 43

**Part 43**

"Benign desmoid mass."

House read the diagnosis aloud from the biopsy report. It's what he'd suspected after the MRI came back with no other tumors and after gauging the infiltration degree. The malignant or benign designation had been the only unknown left and that had just been cleared up.

Relief washing through her, Cuddy clutched her arm to her stomach and let out the breath she'd been holding. It felt good to finally have an answer so that they could move on to treatment.

Taking several deep breaths, Cuddy moved over to sit with House. He was sitting up again, legs over the side even though he should have the injured one elevated. She supposed she should chastise him but let it slide for now since he was using the ice pack. Plus Rachel was currently sleeping at the foot of the bed.

Cuddy had tried putting her down on the cot, but Rachel had promptly woken enough to walk over and climb up into the bed, where she'd fallen back to sleep. House had just shrugged and said, "Kid's smart."

"They're rare," Cuddy remarked as he continued to look at the pathologist's report.

"Yeah," he nodded then set the paper down on the food tray, which also held her computer. The MRI was on the screen and he was peering at it intently, zooming in and moving the image around to survey it yet again.

While he studied it, Cuddy studied him.

It was fascinating to watch him work, always had been. Right now, he was in that place inside his head where more than one diagnostic miracle had sprung. She wished she could see inside, see his puzzle as he saw it. It saddened her a bit to know she would never have access to that part of him. She was limited to her own knowledge of medicine which, while not insignificant, was not like his. No one's was like his.

He knew a lot and what he didn't know he learned, at a rate that she couldn't even fathom. Rumor had it that he'd never studied for a single test in medical school. She couldn't confirm or deny that but she wouldn't be surprised if it was true. She'd certainly never seen him with a textbook at Michigan.

_My boyfriend's a genius_, she mused then frowned. Boyfriend. That wasn't the right word. That's how they'd approached their relationship the first time, boyfriend and girlfriend. They weren't that. They hadn't been then, they weren't now. There was more between them than those limited designations would ever encompass. They weren't just lovers either, nor partners, not in the way most people would define.

Frankly, Cuddy didn't know what they were when it came to the relationship labels of contemporary vernacular. Maybe there wasn't a label. House would probably agree with that. He didn't like labels — _except that people were idiots and it was never lupus … and coma guy and vegetative state guy. _

Okay, so, maybe he did like _some_ labels, Cuddy silently conceded with a smile. But she was fairly sure there was no label for them, and if there was one, it'd be one of his own invention.

A part of her cringed to know what it might be, considering he'd named her breasts after Bart Simpson's chain-smoking aunts. "Cause they're always smokin'" had been the reasoning behind that choice. She'd appreciated the compliment even if it'd been spawned from the perpetually adolescent part of his brain.

It was the same part of him that'd prompted him to set an alarm one morning so that he could hide under the bed and scare the crap out of her when she got up. She'd told him it was like dating a ten-year-old, but the truth is as much as that stuff had irritated her, she'd enjoyed it.

Spontaneity had never played much of a role in her life. From a girl, she'd felt like her life had been planned by her mother, who'd pushed her to succeed, to reach for ever higher goals. Then Cuddy had taken over for her, pushing and pushing. To succeed. To be the best. Graduating second in her class in med school had been a disappointment, when it shouldn't have been. So she'd practiced medicine for a while and then planned a career in medical administration, even lying about her age to become the youngest dean of medicine in the country, at this very hospital. Then she'd planned the hospital and its daily workings. She'd planned dating. She'd planned a child. She'd planned until she had plans for plans.

But House … he could not be planned or controlled the way she'd tried to do every other aspect of her life.

He was the embodiment of spontaneity. From his intuitive medical leaps to faking his own death in order to be with Wilson until the end, House could not be predicted in any substantive way — unless you are predicting that he would be unpredictable.

House just _was_ and Cuddy had thrilled in secret for years at being around someone who could surprise her, who made it his mission in life to get her attention with ever-more-insane pranks and outrageous sexual innuendos that would have gotten him fired from anywhere else, or if he'd directed them at anyone else.

But as much as Cuddy had enjoyed the eyebrow-raising, eye-rolling, sigh-worthy, and ego-flattering moments, the darker ones had either shocked or scared the hell out of her. His impulsivity when he was in pain, physical or psychological, was frequently self-destructive, and had broken her heart more than once.

Looking at him now, Cuddy believed he'd found the balance between. So far, she'd seen no sign of self-pity or had any indication that he might cause himself harm, despite being in pain and his future being up in the air regarding his health and freedom.

If anything, the scales seemed to be tipped more toward the playful, light-hearted side of his nature, which Cuddy wholeheartedly welcomed. Rachel loved that in him, was drawn to it, just as Cuddy was.

Right now, though, House was singularly focused, his mind so locked in on the puzzle that he didn't react when she touched him, trailing her fingers through his hair. If she didn't know him well, she might have been hurt or offended by his non-reaction. But she did know him. She loved him and adored his beautiful mind and its ability to be singularly devoted. She knew what it was to be the subject of that devotion, and _that_ more than made up for the times it was focused elsewhere.

Elsewhere was where that focus needed to be right now. On him and the medical puzzle he'd presented himself. It might not be as complicated as ones he'd had in the past but the stakes were personal, and potentially high.

Knowing he needed time to do what it was he needed to do, Cuddy rose and went over to her purse.

Rachel and Thirteen had brought a present back for him yesterday but she had yet to give it to him. She thought now might be a good time and that he'd appreciate it, even if it involved a brief interruption in his process.

"House?" she said his name softly and held the package in his line of sight. He blinked and looked up at her in irritation and confusion.

Cuddy just smiled. "Open it."

He looked at the box again and she could see his mind was trying to disengage from the puzzle. After a few moments, he took the box and began opening it.

Wistful would be the word she'd use to describe his expression and the smile that emerged when he pulled the lid off. His irritation gone just like that.

"It's from Rachel," she told him as he drew the present out.

A yellow tennis ball. Unremarkable and ordinary.

_But perfect_, Cuddy realized when he gripped it tightly and looked not up at Cuddy, but over at Rachel and spoke to her even though she was sleeping.

"Thanks, kid."


	44. Chapter 44

**Part 44**

Cuddy woke from a sound sleep to the ringing of the phone on the hotel room nightstand. She sat up quickly to get it, not so much worried about the reason why it was ringing but that it might wake the child in the other bed.

Yanking the receiver out of the cradle, she ended the incessant noise and glanced over to her daughter … still sleeping. _Thank God._

Cuddy sighed and brought the handset up to her ear.

_"What are you wearing?"_

At the question, Cuddy lay back down on the bed with a smile. _House. _Only he would call her in the middle of the night, from a hospital bed wanting to know about her sleeping attire. It was endearing and, predictably, turned her on.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, unable to stop herself from playing along.

_"Why do you think I asked?" _he countered then prodded, _"Seriously, what are you wearing?"_

Her smile widening, she challenged, "Take a guess."

_"A thong?"_

Cuddy laughed softly in the dark. "House, there's a child in the room."

_"A sleeping child?"_

"Of course," she answered but quickly looked over anyway to see if Rachel had stirred. It had been so hard getting her to bed tonight, Cuddy did not want to go through it again.

_"Sooooo, a thong but under your…?" _

House's voice brought Cuddy's attention back to him. She imagined him laying there amused at the fact she was indulging him in what amounted to phone sex foreplay.

"Pajama bottoms," she replied.

_"Mine or yours? Because I know how you like to steal my clothes."_

"Mine, you idiot. You're wearing yours."

_"Am I?" _

The suggestiveness was practically dripping off the two words that made up his response. She honestly didn't know if he was or wasn't wearing them but she didn't care. She was enjoying the match-up, the seamless back and forth of thoughts and words. It was like sex. Hell, for them it had been sex, for years.

"You'd better be," she told him. "Because if someone else is wearing them we're going to have a problem."

_"What if I told you no one was wearing them?"_

In the background, she could hear a soft sound and it took a moment to register what it was … the tennis ball hitting his palm. She smiled, picturing him laying in the bed, tossing the yellow ball up into the air while they talked.

"Then I'd say Little Greg is going to get cold due to his proximity with those ice packs."

_"Little Greg, isn't cold, trust me," _he replied. _"He is, however, lonely, which is why he made me make this phone call."_

Intimately aware of House's sex drive, Cuddy knew there was a healthy measure of truth in his words, but there was more to the reason for the call. He was way too alert at this hour. He was still working on the puzzle but needed a distraction from it for a while. That was fine with her. She was happy to be the distraction.

"So your testicles made you pick up the phone and call me to find out what I was wearing?"

_"Pretty much. He's a curious guy."_

"Curiosity killed the cat."

_"Satisfaction brought it back!"_

Cuddy smiled. Not many people knew the second half of the English proverb.

"Didn't your philosopher Jagger have something to say about satisfaction?" Cuddy countered.

_"Yeah, he couldn't get any."_

Still smiling, she asked, "What about you?"

Cuddy could practically feel his smile when he replied.

_"Depends on how kinky you're willing to get over a phone line."_

"I'm glad I left you my phone."

Cuddy heard the tennis ball hit his palm firmly and stop. She fought off a laugh, knowing that his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were open wide in surprise. He was definitely speechless for several seconds.

_"Do tumors in the thigh cause hallucinations?" _he finally asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," she answered, "But then again I'm an endocrinologist."

_"That's a relief … that I'm not hallucinating … not that you're an endocrinologist."_

"Yeah, I got that."

There was a time Cuddy would have been offended by the latter part of that comment, but he wasn't deriding her or her career choice. This was nothing more than light-hearted banter.

_"Hey, don't you and all the other endocrinologist kids study those pesky hormones and stuff?"_

"Yes."

_"Cool. Wanna hear about my hormones?"_

"I know all about your hormones," Cuddy replied and rather liked that she knew.

_"Then you know Little Greg is raging with them, right?"_

"Is he?" she asked, her curiosity roused by the thought of it. Yesterday…

_"He's a little amped," _House replied.

Cuddy smiled. "From just this conversation?"

_"Of course, he knows there's a smokin'-hot mama on the line. Remember, _he_ told _me_ to call you?"_

"That means they were raging before you gave into his demands and made the call," she pointed out. "Stockholm Syndrome?"

_"Probably. Is there a cure for that?"_

"Stockholm Syndrome? Counseling," Cuddy said and heard him start tossing the ball again. The conversation was going to end soon.

_"And the raging hormones?" _he asked.

"Sex," Cuddy replied, adopting as clinical a tone as she could manage, even though she felt anything but clinical about the subject.

_"Lots of it?"_

"Probably." _Definitely._

_"Can we have some?" _

"Sure."

_"Now?"_

"House. Sleeping child in the room," she reminded him.

_"Later then?"_

"Yes." _Most definitely._

_"Sweet."_

On the heels of that one word, Cuddy sensed a change and knew that his mind was turning back to the puzzle. When he spoke again, the playfulness was gone. She would miss it but she_ loved_ the soft intimacy that replaced it.

_"Cuddy."_

A little breathless, Cuddy whispered his name in return.

_"See you in the morning."_

"Yes."

_"I love you."_

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat.

"I love you."


	45. Chapter 45

**Part 45**

Despite what Eric Foreman had done to her former office — and Cuddy shuddered at the memory of having seen it just a few minutes ago — the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro hadn't changed all that much.

The hospital still hummed with activity. Patients, doctors, nurses, and others still walked the corridors, sad, worried, happy, focused, and other things. Charts were tucked under arms, or held against forearms while notes were taken on-the-go. Wheelchairs and gurneys were here and there, some with patients, some without. Empty IV stands stood outside some patient rooms. Patients waited outside doctors' offices.

There was, in fact, a grouping of people outside the diagnostics department, House's old hunting grounds, now Robert Chase's. She only recognized one of those gathered: Dr. Christopher Taub. He was dressed in a suit and tie, no lab coat but a trench folded over one arm.

"Dr. Cuddy," he said, seeing her and breaking away from the group.

"You're not on Chase's team?" Cuddy asked, gesturing to his attire.

"Back in plastics," he told her, explaining, "Two daughters to put through college."

Cuddy nodded. She'd heard something about that. But that didn't explain his presence here unless he was either on staff or…

"I had to come see for myself."

_House. _That explains it, Cuddy thought. _That always explained things, really._

"You heard," she stated.

"Foreman."

Cuddy looked at the grouping outside the office again. She noted the blinds were closed, but not on the door.

"I take it he's in there," Cuddy asked.

"Adams said Chase asked them to wait outside. He's been in there about twenty minutes, according to Park."

Adams and Park? Cuddy didn't recognize the names, but it didn't really matter. She was concerned.

Since arriving, House had only consulted with Chase and Foreman a couple times. She hadn't really questioned why, though it could appear a little odd to some considering how many years he'd worked with them, particularly Chase and his role at the hospital.

The lack of overall complexity in House's case likely had something to do with it. They had a diagnosis. There had been no more surprises. At this point, he was evaluating the best course of treatment in light of the complexities his physical condition presented. He didn't need Chase to do that. It was down to House's choice now.

A movement catching her eye, farther down, past the group of gawkers, she saw a former colleague … an oncologist … entering an office. _Wilson's old office._

Cuddy closed her eyes slowly in grief and in understanding. House wasn't here for a consult.

"Excuse me," she told Taub then made her way through the group to enter Chase's office.

The younger man stood behind the desk, staring out the window to the little balcony … _where House is_.

Cuddy moved nearer, so she could see outside as well. House wasn't in the wheelchair, but standing and leaning on his hands against the brick-and-mortar railing. He was staring at the glass door across the way. The blinds were closed, thankfully, sparing Wilson's successor any awkwardness.

The intensity of House's stare was … there was anger there that she'd not seen yet in regards to Wilson. She wasn't surprised at its presence. Anger was a part of the grieving process. She knew she'd feel it at some point herself.

"How long has he been out there?" she asked Chase.

"About fifteen minutes." His Down Under accent was laced with the same concern Cuddy felt.

"It's freezing out," she commented, noting House wore only sleeping attire and a flimsy hospital-issue robe. She did note there were a couple of folded blankets on the corner of Chase's desk. She touched one and found it warm.

Cuddy looked at Chase.

"I didn't know if I should disturb him," he said, catching her gaze.

Cuddy nodded in understanding. It was sometimes difficult to know when to approach House. Over the years, only she and Wilson had dared enter the bear's den knowing he was in a bad mood. She didn't think House was in bad mood right now, though, just a place of deep sorrow that was churning other emotions to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy picked up one of the blankets and headed out into the cold. House didn't move but his eyes, reflected in the glass, darted to her. He seemed to ease a bit, but the anger was still there.

Cuddy moved forward anyway, unfolded the blanket and draped it around his body. She noted he was visibly trembling from the cold, just a bit but it meant she needed to get him back inside as soon as he would allow.

Stepping up beside him, she looked at his reflection and saw herself standing beside him. Her dark, wool coat stood in stark contrast to the white blanket surrounding House.

"I miss him, too," she said after a few moments of silence.

House didn't say anything in return but she watched his jaw clench tight. His gaze dropped down and she could feel a jumble of intense emotions pouring off him.

Glancing down, Cuddy saw his hands had balled into fists and knew an explosion was imminent. She didn't try to stop it, suspecting it had been building for a while. He needed to let it out at some point, now was as good a time as any.

"I don't just miss him," House growled as he turned his turbulent gaze on her, "I _need_ him. _Here_."

Cuddy didn't speak, just stood her ground as he hobbled until he was standing over her. She met his gaze and let him vent, her heart hurting for him, and for herself. She needed Wilson here, too.

"I need to talk to an oncologist, a _real_ oncologist, not these junior O-men they send to me!" House shouted, his voice strained with emotions too numerous to name. "This may not be cancer, but I need information to make a choice!"

Cuddy knew Chase could hear him, probably even the people in the hall, but she didn't care. This was important.

"You need to talk to your friend," she corrected, knowing it had nothing to do with the medicine, even if he cloaked his need in that.

"Yes!" he responded immediately, confirming her diagnosis.

And just like that the fury dissipated and he was left standing there, right hand braced on the railing, his chest heaving, his eyes intent on her. He was completely vulnerable in that moment, so exposed, so … lost.

"I'm not him," she told him, her love for him unmistakable in the whisper that left her lips, "but I am here."

House reached for her then and she stepped into the embrace he offered, his left arm easing around her waist while his head bowed alongside hers. His whiskered cheek grazed her smooth one and she closed her eyes when she felt the wet burn of a tear. It wasn't hers.

Gently, Cuddy slid her hands beneath the blanket and around House's shoulders. She just held him, her mind flashing back to those first moments they shared in that motel in Scranton, how they'd just held onto one another.

Cuddy felt the same sense of loss and need as she had then and didn't bother trying to stop her own tears. They fell for Wilson. They fell for House. They fell for herself.

Turning her face into House's neck, Cuddy breathed softly her own heart's desire.

"I wish he was here, too."


	46. Chapter 46

**Part 46**

House needed to get out of the hospital for a while, so Cuddy took him.

She'd had to go get him some clothes first. Not having foreseen how things would unfold, Cuddy hadn't asked but for a few of his things to be packed, so he was lacking any attire he could wear out.

She'd rectified that with new jeans, a pair of sneakers, a blue button-down and sport jacket, an overcoat and a cane. The cane wasn't anything fancy, just dark wood with a black-rubber tip and a brass accent on the end of the flared handle, but he'd perked up at the sight of it.

Now they, along with Rachel, were settled into a booth at a sandwich shop not far from the hospital. Cuddy recalled that he liked the Ruebens here, which was exactly what he ordered as soon as the waitress came around. For Cuddy it was a small salad and cup of tomato soup. For Rachel a turkey and cheese sandwich with apple slices on the side.

As Cuddy helped Rachel get situated with her meal, House made an observation. "Is it me or is everyone staring?"

They were staring. But considering he was supposed to be a dead man, it was sort of an expected side-effect of "resurrection."

"Ignore them and eat your sandwich," she told him.

When he didn't, Cuddy laid her hand on his foot, which he'd propped on the seat next to her. He didn't look at her but spoke again, his expression one of both irritation and amusement. It was a weird combination but he pulled it off.

"Do you think _they_ _think_ they're seeing a ghost? Because I would probably—"

Cuddy scoffed, cutting him off. "You don't believe in ghosts. You don't even believe we have souls."

"True," he said, "But if Wilson walked in here right now…"

Fearing he was heading down a morose path, Cuddy cut him off again. "You'd use his credit card to pay for the meal."

"Equally true," he said, met her gaze for the first time since they'd sat down. "Thank you."

It was sincere.

"You're welcome," she said, giving him a little smile.

"Are you sure this is all right?" he asked, gesturing with his head to pretty much everything around him.

Cuddy sighed. She'd already told him twice that it was fine. The custodial paperwork she'd signed just said he had to either be in the hospital or in her company.

"Yes, it's fine."

He tucked his chin a bit and looked out from under his brows at her. "Feels strange."

Cuddy imagined so. He'd been "dead" for nearly six months, away from anywhere and anyone familiar — except Wilson. Now he was in a place he'd spent a large portion of his adult life, where _he_ was a familiar face.

"It'll be okay," she told him and she could tell he really wanted to accept her assurances at face value. She wished he would. She wished she could.

"You said Chase and Foreman were coming," he said.

Cuddy nodded. They were coming, at his request, which she'd relayed to them. He hadn't said why he wanted them to come, but she suspected he was looking to bounce his thoughts off them now that he'd had time to do his own thinking. He had, she suspected, reached a decision but wanted to check himself against people he trusted.

"They'll be here in a while," Cuddy said, "They wanted to give us time to eat first."

He looked down at his sandwich but didn't pick it up. "Do you want to know?"

"You've decided?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing up at her and then back down to his food.

"Do you want to tell me?" she asked and watched him bypass the sandwich and pick up his coffee. He took a sip, looked out the window. _Avoidance._

When he finally looked at her again, he set his cup down and answered, "Yeah."

"But…" Cuddy prompted, because clearly sensed there was one.

"I want everyone to hear it at once."

Okay, he was feeling obligated to tell her first and was afraid of how she would react if he didn't. "You're afraid of hurting my feelings," she stated.

He held her gaze, gave a single, curt nod of acknowledgement.

Cuddy smiled at him. "You're not going to hurt my feelings, House," she said softly. "I know how you work. You need honest responses."

"You're my medical proxy, primary care physician and…," he said, "You should know first."

He wasn't wrong, but she really did understand.

"Would it help you better if I did?" she put to him, knowing he would not be able to respond affirmatively. And he didn't.

"No."

"Then do what you need to do," she told him, then pointed to his sandwich, "Now eat."

"Yes, _mom_," he countered, making that silly pouty face.

Hearing that, Rachel chimed in typical five-year-old fashion, "She's not _your_ mom, ye bloody scalawag."

_Oh God. _

House exaggerated his pout even more when he looked over at Rachel. "Wan' ye at least share ye ma wit me? I promises ta be good to 'er."

"Okay," Rachel replied with a shrug then went back to her food.

Cuddy shook her head at the exchange and cut him a look before he picked up his Reuben and began to eat.

A few bites into her own meal, Cuddy asked him a question, one she was ashamed she hadn't thought of before.

"I should have asked before but, House, has anyone told your mother?"

"I went to see her after you… before I went to Short Hills." _To hire Stacy._

His answer surprised Cuddy. She'd have thought he'd just call Blythe, or have Stacy call her. She could only imagine what Blythe had thought when she first saw him.

"How'd she…"

"Take it?" he anticipated and Cuddy could see a sarcastic comment forming. She headed it off at the pass with a sighed, "House."

In response, he set his sandwich down and picked up his napkin. He sat back as he wiped his fingers then his mouth, eyes on hers.

"She's okay," he said softly. "Like you, she forgives me everything."

"I'm sure she's glad you're…" Cuddy left the rest unsaid as she glanced to Rachel and back to House.

He nodded but didn't say anything more and Cuddy let the subject drop. Though House loved his mother, their relationship wasn't what it should have been thanks to John House.


	47. Chapter 47

What you've all been waiting for... well, one of the things.

* * *

**Part 47**

By the time Foreman and Chase had arrived, the sandwich shop had cleared out some, classes having resumed and lunch hours finished. There were only a handful of patrons remaining, scattered around the dining area while House and Cuddy still occupied the corner booth with Rachel. Foreman and Chase and pulled up chairs to sit close and they were all waiting for House to speak.

When he finally did, Cuddy watched the tension visibly leave the two younger doctors. They were as keyed up as she was, ready to hear what he had to say.

"Conventional treatment would be a radical surgical excision with a wide margin due to the infiltration factor," House stated clinically.

Looking at him directly, Cuddy shook her head at the very notion. "You do that and you might as well amputate." It was brutally blunt but true, and he knew it.

"You lack the tissue in the area for a wide perimeter," Chase agreed. "Surgically, the mass could be removed with a thin margin, then followed up with radiation or targeted chemotherapy, or both, to take care of what's left behind."

"Targeted chemotherapy could be dangerous. It runs the risk of another compartment syndrome episode," Foreman added, who looked from Chase to House. "Not to mention desmoids have a twenty-five to sixty percent recurrence rate even with successful treatment."

Cuddy watched House nod. He'd expected everything they'd said.

"So we're agreed. We can't keep hacking on my leg."

"Well, you can't leave it in," Foreman said. "In almost any other patient we could just monitor the growth and treat it indirectly with radiation, but compartment syndrome would still be a risk factor with any trauma to the area."

"Especially if it continues to grow," Chase added.

There was yet another nod from House. He then looked at Cuddy.

"Endocrinology profile?"

"Studies have indicated that treatment with endocrine agents such as antiestrogens and prostaglandin inhibitors have helped reduce the size of desmoid masses, but not cure them," Cuddy replied. "At best, it's therapeutic aimed at regression and controlling growth."

Spinning his cane back and forth between his palms, House enticed, "Ablation. Go."

Cuddy watched the two younger doctors exchange a glance before looking back at House. Their curiosity had been piqued.

"Radiofrequency?" Chase threw out first.

"An oldie but a goodie," House countered. "Size regression likely but possible complications are adjacent soft-tissue necrosis and cellulitis, along with increased tissue scarring. Which would further affect the patient's already limited mobility."

Foreman suggested, "Cryoablation? Has a lower recurrence rate."

"Primarily used for tumors in the lungs, liver, prostate, and kidneys. But a possibility," House commented. "Risk factors?"

"The usual, infection and bleeding … especially bleeding," Forman said, "But the bigger concern would be the possibility of permanent nerve damage. Which the patient also _does not_ need due to pre-existing neuropathic pain."

House nodded yet again. "Microwave or laser ablation?"

"Danger of heat damage or burns to surrounding tissues, effusion, or nerve injury with either," Chase concluded.

"What about chemical?" House offered up.

"Direct injection of alcohol or acetic acid," Foreman said, "which puts us back at elevated risk for compartment syndrome, among other things. Plus, it tends to be palliative, not curative."

"House," Chase began, "These are all viable options with risk factors made more risky by your existing condition, but they're still better than a surgical excision, wide or narrow field."

"True," House responded then offered another suggestion. "How about MRI-guided focused ultrasound?"

Cuddy'd heard of the treatment. "It has shown some interesting results on uterine fibroids," she noted then added disappointedly, "Which is the only condition the FDA has approved it for so far."

"But it is currently being tested in Europe and Asia for a number of tumors and cancers," Foreman stated. "China has been at it for a decade. They've done specific studies using high-intensity ultrasound on soft-tissue tumors outside the abdominal cavity, including the thigh."

Chase was nodding. "Smaller masses were reportedly completely necrotized, including infiltrate with only tissue inflammation as a rare complication and the usual risk factors of medical procedures," he said then asked, "Any studies or clinical trials in the States?"

"Yep," House replied. "Continued research for uterine fibroids, plus new trials for Parkinson's, metastatic bone tumors, and multiple myeloma."

Forman sighed and Chase slumped back into his chair. Cuddy noted they both sounded and looked defeated.

But House didn't. Which meant this was the course of treatment he had chosen and Cuddy knew that, ever the magician dedicated to the big reveal, he had been waiting for just their reactions before making it.

"Also, in two weeks," House began in an upbeat tone that immediately regained the younger doctors' attention, "a new study will begin for patients with soft-tissue tumors who have been definitively ruled out as candidates for surgical excision. The masses must not be larger than six centimeters, so I'm under the wire." He met Cuddy's gaze. "I sent my medical records to the review board and researchers last night to see if they had an opening for a recently 'undead' guy with a pronounced limp, surly attitude, and criminal record. Just so happens they did."

"You got in with that pitch?" Foreman said, his tone one of disbelief.

"Yep," House countered with a dramatic roll of his eyes in Foreman's direction. "Medical research is all about subject image."

Chase, to his credit, ignored the first dose of sarcasm in the conversation, asked, "Where?"

Cuddy wanted to know the answer to that question herself. House couldn't leave the State of New Jersey under his conditional release terms, and he was well aware of it. When he looked at her again, though, she knew immediately what he was going to say.

"Johns Hopkins."

Without a word, Cuddy reached for her purse, pulled out her phone, and handed it to House.

"You'd better call Stacy."


	48. Chapter 48

To all those asking/wondering about the medical information in Part 47, I spent the last week digging around for possible solutions to House's situation. The treatment option he's elected is definitely a real one and I've given a broad-stroke overview of it, as well as the other options considered. This particular one is showing great promise as a non-invasive form of treatment for cancers, tumors, and cysts.

* * *

**Part 48**

Outside a judge's chambers in Princeton Borough Court House, Cuddy paced as she waited to hear about House's petition for travel to Maryland.

House and Stacy had been in there for about twenty minutes. They'd been joined about ten minutes ago by a man in a suit and one in a sheriff's uniform, but still there was no word.

The suspense was nerve-wracking. Cuddy had never been good at waiting, and neither was House. She just prayed he kept his tongue in check. She knew he'd changed, but she wasn't sure he'd changed _that_ much. She just hoped … a lot of things.

House's desired course of treatment was a godsend, even if he was an atheist. It offered him the best chance of complete eradication of the tumor without loss of precious muscle mass or limb.

In the drive to the court house, he'd talked to her more about it. He'd described that recent case studies had shown smaller tumors had been completely ablated despite being near and around major blood vessels. All aberrant cells had literally been destroyed under the heat generated by the targeted ultrasound energy, with only a one-centimeter margin required — a little over a quarter of an inch. No incisions.

Cuddy had been so relieved to know that they wouldn't have to cut into him to try it. She was also relieved that the procedure could be done at her hospital. So far, her employer had been beyond gracious in giving her the last several days to care for House here, but she eventually had to go back. Her home was there, her daughter had school there.

Glancing at Rachel, Cuddy marveled not for the first time at how kids could be oblivious to the world of grownups. She was sitting on one of the wooden benches in the hall, her little feet swinging as she looked through a book. She had House's tennis ball beside her and the picture she presented made Cuddy smile.

Rachel was a miracle. She shouldn't have survived her birth, but there she was, sitting there as if nothing hung in the balance, so sure of everything despite not being aware of any of it.

A sound from the end of the hall drew Cuddy's gaze and she saw the big, wooden door to the judge's chambers open. The suited man and sheriff exited first and moved quietly past her without a word. House and Stacy followed.

House glanced at Cuddy and his expression gave her hope. But then Stacy pulled House to the side and started talk to him. She was very animated, her motions clipped in a way that Cuddy recognized. She did that herself when dealing with Rachel or students or, in the past, had done it with employees when she was trying to drive a point home.

House nodded repeatedly then finally said something to Stacy. Whatever it was, it seemed to satisfy her because they both turned and headed toward Cuddy and Rachel.

"Well?" Cuddy asked as they neared, her hands raising then dropping with the question.

"All systems go," House replied and Cuddy sighed in relief.

"Thank God."

"Thank Stacy," House replied.

"What he should do is grovel in gratitude to you," Stacy countered when she looked at Cuddy. "None of this works without you. The same conditions apply as here. He is either at the hospital, your home or within 100 yards of you at all times, no exceptions. A parole officer will check in at random to see if he's following the conditions."

Stacy fixed House with a stern stare then. "And you _will_ follow them or I, _swear to God_, Greg, I _will_ hunt you down myself. I promise you, you'll wish I'd never gotten you out."

"Yeah, I got that down there," House said, and Cuddy could see that he had. His expression was sober.

"Is House coming home with us?"

The delightfully innocent question came from behind Cuddy. Everyone looked to Rachel who was now standing by the bench, her book in one hand, the tennis ball in the other.

Cuddy smiled at her daughter. "Yes, sweetheart. For a while," she said, happy that he was and yet not wanting to set expectations of a long-term situation with the rest of his case unresolved.

Rachel beamed and walked up to House. She held out the ball to him and he took it. She then took hold of his other hand and looked up at him, as if waiting to go.

House's expression was awkward to say the least. He was so at ease playing with Rachel, but when she openly engaged him as an adult, he never knew quite how to respond. Cuddy smiled at him.

"You driving down tonight?" Stacy asked, attracting Cuddy's attention.

Cuddy shook her head. "Too late in the day. We'll stay here tonight and head out tomorrow morning."

Stacy nodded. "Bet you'll be glad to get home."

"Yes," Cuddy replied but it wasn't until later that night in her hotel room, that she realized it was the first time since moving to Baltimore that she felt like she was actually going home.

That thought made her smile and the expression remained as she whispered to the man spooned at her back.

"Good night, House."


	49. Chapter 49

**Part 49**

House and Rachel were both asleep when Cuddy parked on the street in front of her 1880s brownstone in Bolton Hill.

Cuddy wasn't surprised. Kids of a certain age _always_ fell asleep in cars and House…

He was known to fall asleep just about anywhere. She'd never known where she'd find him at Princeton-Plainsboro. The clinic. The chair in his office. The morgue. Coma guy's room. She'd always given him crap about it but truth was she understood. He was an insomniac so he napped whenever and wherever he could find a few moments quiet.

Not surprisingly, he woke when she put the car in park. She watched him blink hard several times, squinting against the brightness then tilting his head to look out the window and up at the towering, red-brick building.

"Wow, Cuddy. Movin' on up."

"I apologize in advance for the stairs."

"I'll manage," he said, still looking as he reached for the door handle.

Cuddy exited the car on her side and walked around. House had pivoted in the seat and was preparing to get out. She offered him a hand and helped him heave himself up to his feet. She released him then and he leaned on the cane, making his way onto the sidewalk. He was a little slow and still slightly off balance, which she attributed to his still-ailing thigh and stiffness from the nearly three-hour car ride.

In the back seat, Rachel was still out like a light. Cuddy knew that wouldn't last long. Opening the back door, she reached in and unbuckled Rachel from the child seat. The little girl stirred and wiped at her eyes.

"We're home," Cuddy told her then stepped back and let Rachel get out of the car on her own.

Once on the sidewalk, Rachel immediately looked for House and walked over to him. "Wanna come see my room?" she asked.

Cuddy watched him look down at her and then up at the building again. "Is it all the way up there?" He pointed with his cane.

Rachel didn't answer, but pointed to her bedroom window on the second floor. It was framed with purple and white drapes. House looked a bit daunted even though it was only one flight up.

"Rachel, honey, House will see it later," Cuddy said, sparing him from answering right away as she moved around and opened the trunk. "Now come get your bag."

House started heading her direction but she stopped him by quickly locking the car doors and tossing him the keys. "Let yourself in. Kitchen's in the back."

He paused as if going to ask if he could help, but they both knew he wasn't up to it. She shook her head at him and he ducked his head, turned and headed toward the short flight of steps that led to the front door.

Cuddy pulled hers and Rachel's bags from the trunk and set them on the sidewalk. Rachel immediately grabbed hers and headed toward the steps, hot on House's heels.

Cuddy smiled and reached back into the trunk for House's bag. She slung it over her shoulder with her purse, closed the trunk, and snagged her own suitcase by the handle and followed them.

House'd managed to open the outer doors by the time she caught up, and she and Rachel followed him. Cuddy ditched their bags just inside the entry. She'd take them up to her room later.

Shrugging off her coat and hanging it behind the door, Cuddy watched House look around and take in the place.

It was radically different than her house had been in Princeton. Where that one had been purely suburban in design, this was a throwback to a more opulent era of architecture and unique living space. The rooms were narrow, the ceilings high. The small entry faced the stairs, while to the left, it opened into to a living area. Beyond that, was the dining area and kitchen.

The floors throughout the house were a dark walnut, the moulding white. In the living area, the walls were painted a light beige color that extended back through the rest of the floor. The narrow but spacious room was furnished with a leather couch and loveseat, dark-chocolate in color. There was a fireplace on the outer wall.

What caught House's eye, though, was the guitar case leaned against the hearth. Cuddy smiled when he saw it. Without a word, he moved over and touched it. It was his, from his old place in Princeton. He looked over at her in question.

"Wilson," she said. "He kept your things for your mother, in case she ever wanted them."

He looked confused.

"He didn't tell you?"

House shook his head. "I didn't know. You have all of it?"

"He asked me to hold onto it for a while," Cuddy said. "I had Janice get that out for you," she said, nodding toward the guitar. "She also brought some more of your clothes. They'll be upstairs."

House looked back to the guitar and stared at it, ran his hand through his hair. Seeing him struggling with his emotions, Cuddy quietly directed Rachel upstairs with her suitcase, telling her she could play until lunch.

Once Rachel reached the first landing, Cuddy went to House. He looked at her as soon as she was an arm-length away. She saw his grief.

"When?" he asked

"He did it before the funeral … but I only received the letter last week."

He was quiet a moment. "My mother thought it was all gone. She was upset…"

Cuddy laid a hand on his arm, gently. "You can let her know then."

He nodded then glanced around the room again, before fixing his gaze on the bay window that looked out on the street and at the buildings across the way.

"It's a nice place."

"Yes."

Feeling his arm tremble beneath her hand, Cuddy gave it a squeeze. "Why don't you put your leg up and I'll fix us some lunch?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Cuddy echoed then eased away from him.

Almost to the kitchen, Cuddy heard him let out a soft grunt, prompting her to pause and look back over her shoulder at him. She smiled wistfully at seeing he'd moved the guitar case to the coffee table and was lowering himself down to the sofa in front of it.

_It'd been a good choice to send Janice to the storage unit_, Cuddy thought then continued on to the kitchen, leaving House to his thoughts and music.


	50. Chapter 50

**Part 50**

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep downstairs?"

Cuddy asked the question as she stood behind House, who was working his way up the stairs to the second floor. He was two steps up from first landing, another ten steps then he would be just a dozen or so away from her bed.

"Kicking me out of your bed before I even get in it, huh?" he asked as he took another step, one hand gripping the banister, the other braced against the wall. Cuddy was carrying his cane.

"Stop being an idiot," she said, her free hand on his back when he swayed a bit.

"Ah, so you do want me in your bed."

"Of course … idiot," Cuddy said, smiling in spite of the fact he was struggling.

He always engaged her in sarcastic banter when he was trying to distract himself from pain. And he was definitely hurting right now.

"You know, I don't know how I feel about your nanny going through my underwear," he slung over his shoulder and nearly threw himself off balance.

"Don't worry, she won't gouge her eyes out over it."

"What if they weren't clean?"

"God, House," she grimaced at the thought even though she knew he didn't put dirty clothes in with clean. Overall, he was rather tidy … other than the toothbrush and sink thing, which Cuddy suspected had been a deliberate test of her patience and boundaries.

"Save that kind of talk for bed, woman." Another step. "Speaking of which, is there sex in my very near future?"

Cuddy looked up at the back of his head. "If you ever make it up the stairs," she said it under her breath.

"If you promise dirty talk, I'll try two steps at a time."

Cuddy shook her head. "You do that and I won't have sex with you ever again."

"Harsh," he grunted on the next step.

"Realistic," Cuddy countered. "You try two at a time and you're liable to end up dead and necrophilia isn't on my bucket list."

"Ha, and you thought the underwear comment was disgusting," he scoffed.

"It was." She refused to argue that point.

Cuddy glanced up. Four more steps to go.

"What if—" he began but she cut him off.

"If you shut up for these last few, I'll do a striptease."

He immediately paused and took his hand off the wall long enough to mime zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Go," she told him and he did, making it to the second floor but wincing the entire way. He was hurting worse than he'd been letting on.

By the time they made it to the bed, he leaned back against it heavily. He braced his hands on the mattress and looked at her. Pain and exhaustion.

"I'll trade the striptease for a hot bath."

Cuddy nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

She left him there and went to run the water. When she came back, he was closing up the prescription bottle that she'd set on the bedside table. He downed the ibuprofen with a big swallow of water.

"I'm going to get a couple ice packs. Can you…?" She gestured to his clothing.

"I've got it."

"Be right back."

Cuddy made it a quick trip. She'd prepped the packs earlier and they were now good and cold. She stopped by to make sure the front door was locked and shut off the lights downstairs before making her way back up.

She found House in the bathroom, sitting on the side of the tub. He'd managed to shed his shirts, pants and shoes, but his socks were out of reach. He apologized to her when she bent down and helped him.

"It's okay," she told him.

Once his socks were off, she helped him with his underwear. It was always the most difficult because the material had to be carefully moved over his thigh. It still looked terribly bruised but she was glad to see the tumor no longer showed quite as much. Extracting the clot had let it settle back into place.

From his perch on the side of the tub, he was able to ease himself into the water on his own, and she let him. She'd never been one to coddle him and she wasn't going to start now. If he needed help, she'd be there. If he could do it himself, she'd let him. It was better for both of them that way.

Rolling a towel, Cuddy slipped it behind his head as he leaned back. He thanked her and closed his eyes while his hands blindly sought out his leg. He sank his fingers into the muscles around his hip with one, and reached for the ones just above his knee with the other.

Cuddy sighed and sank down to the floor beside the tub.

He opened his eyes when she propped her elbow on the edge and rested her head in her hand.

"I wish there was something more I could do."

"You do enough … and more."

His gaze was sober, grateful. Cuddy held it for several moments then moved determinedly to him, touching his face as she leaned quickly in and caught his mouth with hers. She kissed him slow and deep and he kissed her back, his hands rising out of the water to hold her to him.


	51. Chapter 51

**Part 51**

Cuddy was kissed awake.

She felt the weight and warmth of a hand slide up over the nightshirt she'd worn to bed.

"House," she breathed as long fingers stroked her breast gently.

"Yeah…"

It was a whisper punctuated by a kiss that had Cuddy humming in pleasure.

She reached for him, but he quickly caught her arm and guided it gently back down to the bed, his touch gliding down over her skin, from wrist to elbow.

"Just let me…" he breathed.

She did, letting him ease his hand under the material of her shirt and draw it up to expose her chest to the cool air in the room. Her nipples peaked and he licked and suckled them to harder points while his hand traveled south.

Cuddy moaned at feeling his fingers slip between fabric and skin. "Don't tease," she complained when he just rested his hand there, his palm pressing against her but not touching her where she needed.

He came up and kissed her again then granted her request. She gasped into his mouth at the first light brush of this fingertip.

"That's it," he murmured against her lips, "So responsive." He bowed his head beside hers, whispered in her ear, "You like sex."

"Yes," she admitted without shame.

He whispered again, "You like sex with me."

"God, yes," she gasped when he caressed her with his whole hand, fondling and massaging. She moaned and pushed into his touch.

"Tell me why?"

"Because … it's more," she breathed.

"Yes."

It was the last thing he said as he kissed and touched her. Defying his earlier request, Cuddy touched him, her hand finding his face, his hair, his shoulders. She tugged at him, wanting him over her. But he didn't move, just keep melding his mouth with hers while his fingers treated her to leisurely, exploring, loving caresses.

It was pure pleasure and more… definitely much more.

Easing her mouth from his, Cuddy pleaded, "I want you."

"I know," he pressed his brow to hers.

"House…"

"This is just for you," he was saying as he relentlessly played her body.

She was helpless to stop her coming. She gasped and moaned deeply with it and still he did not stop, taking her higher, following every rise and fall of her body, not letting it end until she literally had to ask him to stop.

Even then, he did not withdraw, just held her and kissed her softly until her body ceased trembling.

"You?" she said and he shook his head. "Can't."

Cuddy smiled in understanding and caressed his jaw. It wasn't the first time it had happened and wouldn't be the last. And it was probably for the best in the long run. He did not need to stress his leg. Had she been in a semi-coherent state of mind moments ago, she wouldn't have asked him for more.

_Oh, who am I kidding_, _I will always ask when he gets me in that state, _she thought. She really did love sex and he made her _burn_.

Cuddy didn't offer him an conciliatory "I'm sorry" — he wouldn't want it — just told him she loved him. That earned her another kiss before he rolled over onto his back beside her.

Shimmying out of her top, she offered it to him to wipe his hand. He did then tossed the garment over the side of the bed. Cuddy turned onto her side to look at his profile in the early dawn light.

"When do they need you to report to the hospital?" she asked, her voice hushed with satisfaction.

"Preliminary workups are tomorrow." He shifted and tucked his right hand behind his head.

That meant he had the day free. She on the other hand had to get up and get Rachel off to school and herself ready to work. He would have to either stay here or go with her to the hospital — with nothing to do.

"I have rounds and a couple classes today," she told him, knowing he'd understand what she was telling him.

He continued to stare up at the ceiling. "So, I have two choices."

"I'm sorry." And she really was, positive that Stacy had at least tried to get him a bit more freedom to move about on his own.

"Not your fault," he replied, then asked, "Do you have cable?"

He was deflecting but she didn't push him on it, knowing her answer would make him happy.

"How do you think Rachel kept sneaking to watch that filthy pirate cartoon?"

He smiled.

"She loves you, you know," she told him.

"Kids love anybody who'll play with them," he countered.

Cuddy pushed up on an elbow and gazed at him.

"She _never_ asked about Lucas," she told House.

He looked at her. "If I didn't have performance issues before…," he said, letting his voice trail off.

"House," Cuddy sighed then laid back down and snuggled against his side. She ran her hand across his chest.

Cuddy knew Lucas wasn't that sore of a spot. House's ego wouldn't let him go so far as to be jealous because he'd ultimately ended up with her in his bed. But he still didn't like when she mentioned the other man, which was understandable considering Lucas had been something akin to a friend to him at one point.

"I'm glad I went to you that morning," she told him. "It was beautiful … and passionate."

House turned his head and looked at her, his gaze assessing.

"He wasn't getting it done," he said after a few moments, and with a smugness that was legitimately warranted.

Cuddy smiled at him. No, Lucas hadn't been _getting it done_, as House put it. He'd been sweet and somewhat skilled, but fumbling and ... bland.

"Not even close," she confessed to House and watched him smile in delight.


	52. Chapter 52

**Part 52**

"You were entirely too much woman for him."

That's what House had told her as he watched her strip down and head to the shower. She'd been extremely flattered and given him a smug look and thrown a little more sway in her hips as she walked away from him.

"Seductress!" he'd called after her when she closed the bathroom door.

Cuddy smiled at the memory. She had no delusions about herself. She was as vain as the next woman. She also knew the effect she had on men. She saw how they looked at her, especially House, who'd never passed up a chance to let her know what he thought — even if it had often come out in the exact opposite form of a compliment.

He was at her home now, probably napping or watching some damned thing or another on the television in her living room. It wasn't a big set but he hadn't complained. If he had money, though, she figured she'd come home to find it replaced by a big screen one.

Of course, Cuddy could just have his, which was in the storage unit, brought in, along with some of his other things. The guitar had really touched him, so much so that she wished she could just move it all in for him. But there was Rachel to think about.

Cuddy had yet to sit her daughter down and talk to her about the fact House might be with them only temporarily. She didn't want to get the child's hopes up, especially since Rachel was so happy to have House around. But Cuddy knew she needed to instill some sort of understanding that he might have to leave for a while. It would be a difficult conversation, but it had to be done. Rachel was too old now to accept vague answers were House to be suddenly absent, and she would experience the loss of him in ways she hadn't before. Cuddy knew that from experience.

As for House, Cuddy believed he wanted to be with them but he was in a strange situation in that he had no choice at the moment. He had to be in her home, her property his entire world, or veritably chained to her side. Cuddy knew it was better than a jail cell but still freedom was freedom — even he'd said running was its own kind of prison.

Cuddy wished Stacy had been able to get him a bit more of actual freedom, but she supposed they were lucky the judge had let him come to Baltimore at all. Maybe, Cuddy thought, the court would look more favorably upon him if he followed the rules they'd set out for him. His compliance certainly couldn't hurt, and she knew Stacy would make sure that it was acknowledged.

With a sigh, Cuddy set aside the paper she'd been trying to grade for the last half-your and reached for the phone. She dialed her home, smiling when House answered.

"Lisa Cuddy's den of pleasure. How may I direct your call?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You have caller ID."

Cuddy let out an amused hum.

"You're still thinking about this morning, aren't you?" he said when she grew quiet.

It was a silly, but Cuddy blushed.

"Yes," she confessed.

"You know, I like the idea of you all hot-and-bothered at work. Reminds me of the good ol' days back in Princeton," he said then quickly added, "and don't deny you weren't hot for the gimp with a limp."

"I wasn't," she protested. She hadn't _always_ been … just a lot of the time.

"Then why were your nipples always so happy to see me?"

He couldn't see her, but she rolled her eyes anyway, despite the fact he wasn't wrong in his observation or assessment.

"House."

He continued undeterred.

"Those tight skirts practically yelled 'tap this, House', not to mention the scandalously low-cut blouses that showed off Patty and Selma."

"I wish you wouldn't call them that," she said, and she really wish he didn't. It wasn't creepy per se, but it was … weird. Still, she supposed she should be grateful he had stop calling them "fun bags."

"Would you prefer—"

"They're breasts, House," she cut him off, knowing _exactly_ where he was headed next.

"Not as much fun, but accurate … and I still want to play with them."

Cuddy shook her head. For all his maturity this morning in bed, he was utterly adolescent at the moment.

It was a dare. He wanted her to play and she, for better or worse, actually enjoyed the game. She had for years or else she'd have fired him for sexual harassment a _long_ time ago. No one else had understood why she allowed it, except maybe Wilson, who at times had been as much of a child as House. God, the pranks…

"What are you thinking about?"

House's tone was serious, making Cuddy realize she must have been quiet for some time. She smiled when she answered.

"Do you remember that chicken that you and Wilson…"


	53. Chapter 53

**Part 53**

Cuddy smiled when she came home and found House and Rachel sacked out on the couch.

House was slouched down into the cushions, his head leaned back, bad leg propped up on the coffee table and the remote in his hand. Rachel was laying beside him, her head on his good leg while some cartoon was playing on the TV.

It was a horribly domestic scene that she was fairly sure House would scoff at were he to have happened upon it himself. But since he was in it…

Cuddy quickly pulled out her phone, turned off the flash, and took a picture. It was one she'd cherish even if he did grump when she showed it to him later.

Glancing up, Cuddy saw Janice, who'd picked up Rachel from school, coming from the kitchen. She held up a hand to stop the nanny's progress and moved to meet her in the dining area.

"Was he any trouble?" Cuddy asked and got a big smile from Janice. She'd warned the young woman that House could be a handful and let her in on some of what that entailed.

"He was fine," Janice assured her. "Rachel adores him."

"I know," Cuddy said with a smile. She followed Janice back into the kitchen where a casserole was cooking in the oven. It smelled great, and Cuddy expected House would be up the minute the smell reached him.

"I didn't realize he was so…," Janice said, fanning herself.

Cuddy felt a ridiculous swell of pride at hearing the nanny thought House was hot, but it was underscored with a possessiveness that was unwarranted but there nonetheless.

"Don't let him hear you say that," she told Janice. "His ego is big enough as it is."

The nanny just laughed and gave Cuddy a rundown on the afternoon. Rachel'd had a snack and her homework was done, and dinner would be ready in about twenty minutes. Cuddy thanked her and walked her to the door.

Re-entering the living room, Cuddy saw Rachel had stirred and was about to climb into House's lap. Cuddy quickly moved to snatch her up and shushed Rachel softly when she whimpered in disappointment.

"Remember we have to be careful with House's leg," she reminded Rachel as she carried her the kitchen. Her daughter nodded but looked like she could fall back asleep at any moment. Cuddy knew she needed to deter that if she had any hopes of getting Rachel to bed on time.

"Would you like to make House something?" she asked and watch Rachel's eyes brighten a bit.

"He likes cookies," Rachel told Cuddy.

"Then lets make him cookies."

Much as Cuddy had been amused by House's fear of the domestic, she had to admit she'd never been overly domestic herself. Not until she'd adopted Rachel.

When it'd come to eating, Cuddy had pretty much lived on salads and takeout, but having a child made it important that she learn to cook healthy things. Kids needed more than salad; they needed protein and carbohydrates for energy and growth. Cooking at home had been the best way to assure Rachel was getting what she needed.

Cuddy still wasn't great at it, but she could make cookies, so she helped Rachel fix up a batch while the casserole finished cooking.

She was setting the table when House finally roused and came into the kitchen, leaning on his cane. He looked tired despite having slept. Pained, too.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded and pulled a chair out, sat slowly. He winced as he did, lightly ran his hand over his thigh. With that action and the fact he'd yet to speak, Cuddy began to wonder how bad he'd been hurting, and if it'd been that way all day.

"I'm making you cookies, House."

House glanced up at Rachel and thanked her. She smiled then seemed to realize something was wrong with him.

Cuddy watched her go to him and touch his face, just like she had in the hospital. He accepted the touch, but Cuddy could see he really just wanted to be left alone. He was used to being alone. And yet he'd come into the kitchen where she and Rachel were.

So many contradictions. House.

"Rachel," Cuddy said softly. "Would you get House some water?"

"Okay."

Rachel went. No pause, just turned around and went to do what Cuddy asked.

"She's a good kid," House said quietly.

Hearing him finally speak, Cuddy moved around the table. She pulled out a chair and sat next to him.

"What do you need?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"I don't know," he answered and Cuddy heard the truth in it.

Reaching, she covered his hand where it rested on the table. He looked over for a moment then moved his hand to lace their fingers. He ran his thumb across hers, back and forth. The motion, the touching seemed to soothe him. She watched him visibly relax. He even smiled a little at Rachel when she brought him the water.

"Mommy will make you better," she pronounced, making Cuddy smile.

House just looked at her and whispered softly, "Yeah."


	54. Chapter 54

**Part 54**

After putting Rachel to bed, Cuddy returned downstairs with House's pajamas, a pillow and bedding for House. He wasn't going to attempt the stairs tonight and she didn't blame him.

Once dinner was finished, she'd managed to distract Rachel with a book then had House come into the downstairs bathroom. It wasn't very big, just large enough for a toilet and sink, so it'd been a tight squeeze for them to both get inside then maneuver his clothes out of the way enough for her to have a look.

The bruising wasn't any worse, neither was the tumor, but there was some slight swelling, which had prompted her to order, "You're sleeping down here tonight." He hadn't argued.

Watching him slowly limp his way toward the couch, Cuddy's heart went out to him. Every step was…

"You should tell Stacy who did this to you," she said.

He looked at her, stated flatly, "Snitches don't fare too well behind bars."

Cuddy inwardly winced. There was experience behind his words, and more. He expected to go back to jail.

Tamping down the guilt that always rose when she thought about her part in seeing him imprisoned the first time, Cuddy set his night clothes and the bedding down on the end of the couch. She wished it was a pull-out so he'd more room to stretch out, so she could lay down with him.

He came over and reached to take his pajamas from atop the stack, but she stopped him, her hand just brushing his, remembering earlier.

Cuddy didn't say anything when he looked at her in question. Understanding dawned when she caressed the back of his hand then reached for the hem of his shirt. Her heart trembled as she slowly drew it up his body, memories of the first time she'd done this rising to the surface. She met his gaze when he lifted his arms, held it until the material blocked the view.

While he dropped the shirt to the floor, her eyes took him in and her hands sought out his skin. She smoothed them across his chest and his shoulders, down along his arms, feeling how warm he was. Looking up, she saw he'd closed his eyes.

_This is what he needs._

Cuddy understood that need well, how just being touched was a powerful thing … and how much trust it took to allow it. Especially this kind of touch. Especially for House.

The pain of the day. The memories they'd shared earlier, while happy ones, had stirred grief. He was tired.

Gently, Cuddy pressed her fingertips to cheek and watched his lids lift slowly. His head bowed just a bit and he looked directly down at her when she grazed her fingers along the line of his mouth. And when she slipped them around behind his neck.

She drew him down and he came slowly, meeting her as she raised on her toes just the slightest bit. Their breaths mingled as their mouths brushed softly, lips touching and pulling away only to come back again.

His hands came to rest lightly on her waist when she lowered to her heels. But his mouth followed hers, kissing, nuzzling then kissing again, while her fingers found the button on his jeans.

"Cuddy…"

"Shhh…"

She looked down and went down, to her knees. She drew his jeans down and looked at his leg.

_God…_

Reaching, she ghosted her hand over the injury, touching without touching, her heart aching at the sight of what she'd helped do to him, what time and others had done to him. She wanted to truly caress him but knew it would be too painful and all she really wanted to do was take his pain away.

Peering up at him, she asked him to sit. He did and she helped divest him of the jeans and his shoes and socks. She eased between his legs then and laid her hands on his chest again and just drew her hands over him. Shoulders to waist. Waist to arms. Arms to hands … which took hold of hers.

Cuddy looked up.

"Come here." It was said so softly.

She hesitated even though she very much wanted to do what he asked. His leg…

"Come on," he prodded and helped her rise.

She looked down as he guided her onto the couch with him, watching to make sure she didn't bump…

"Hey."

Cuddy met House's eyes, felt his arm wrap around her, brace around beneath her ass. He held her against him, just above…

"Come on," he said again.

She moved astride him and felt him shift his leg to accommodate her. She bent and kissed him, her fingers stroking through his hair, over his face. She touched the curves of his ears and the tendons in his neck.

His free hand found its way under her shirt and up over her back. She shifted away and shed it and her bra then kissed him again. He deepened it then lifted her higher against him so his mouth could find her breasts.

She was burning up, from the inside out.

"House," she whispered into the lamp-lit room, her eyes falling shut as he suckled.

This morning had been a campfire compared to this. She felt hungry, starved. For him.

They hadn't… not like this… not since…

But they couldn't.

Cuddy groaned and drew his head back from her. He knew, too.

"God, I want you," she told him and it hurt to say it and know…

He took her hand and shifted her with his other arm so he could place her palm against…

"Oh, House." She would have thought he couldn't.

Cuddy pressed her hand closer and felt him shudder. She would have given anything in that moment to feel him inside her, but split the difference.

With his help, she dismounted the couch and found her way back between his legs. Together, they freed his erection and she wasted no time in taking him into her mouth. He bowed over and ran his hands down her back, whispered her name and kissed the back of her head, the top of her head, then sank his fingers into her hair.

When he sat back, she took that as her cue and returned the pleasure he'd given her in the early hours of the day.


	55. Chapter 55

**Part 55**

It was sunny but cold when House and Cuddy stepped outside of Johns Hopkins University Hospital.

House had spent part of the morning reviewing procedures with the researchers and undergoing a physical. They had agreed he was a good candidate for the procedure but wanted him to spend at least a couple more weeks recuperating, giving the bruising time to diminish. They were going to check his progress three times a week in the meantime and monitor the tumor for potential growth.

Cuddy agreed that he needed to heal more but she was concerned that the tumor might grow larger in the meantime, pushing him outside the study's requirements. That's why she and House were discussing doing an ultrasound to see if there was anything that could be drained to speed his recovery.

"I'll set it up tomorrow," she told him as they moved slowly down the walkway toward one of the benches.

They passed by a man smoking and House, irritated over the day's events, pointed out the sign by the bench the smoker was sitting on. "Can't you read, _idiot_?"

"Can't you walk, _gimp_?" the smoker growled.

"It's _cripple_, dead man sitting," House mocked with an arrogant turn of his head.

"House," Cuddy scolded under her breath all the while praying the idiot on the bench didn't say anything more because he was way out of his league in insult throwing. House was the master.

Thankfully the man let them pass on and she and House eventually made it to another bench upwind of the acrid smoke.

Cuddy snuggled against House's side when he put his arm around her. They were quiet for a while and she eventually felt House relax. Glancing up at him, she saw he had his face turned up into the sun, his eyes closed. She smiled at the sight then rested her head against him.

Had it been warmer, she would have been content to sit on the bench all day with him. It was nice and she could tell he was enjoying being outside. But she had a class in a while and needed to know if he wanted to stick around or if he wanted her to take him home.

"I have a lecture at two," Cuddy told him.

"And what are you teaching the kiddies?"

"Biomarkers of adrenal gland disorders."

"Cushing's and Addison's. Cool."

That response was so … him.

Cuddy smiled. "You do realize you're the only person in the world who thinks diseases are cool?"

"Rare diseases _are_ cool," he countered. "They're nature's curveballs."

Cuddy looked up at him, saw him squinting to watch a bird flying overhead.

"You know I don't get sports metaphors, right?"

He tilted his head to the side and looked down at her. "How about marine biology metaphors?"

"Try me," Cuddy indulged him even though she _knew_ what was coming.

"Moby Dick."

"Does that make you Ahab, hunter of the great white whale?"

"Nope, he only had one leg," he responded. "Whale ate the other one. Think the odds are pretty good there are no whales in Baltimore."

"But you do love flushing out an elusive nemesis," Cuddy said.

He didn't deny it, just smiled at her, his eyes bright with a hunger that had nothing to do with anything physical.

Cuddy knew she might regret it because, well, he was House, but she made him a proposition. "Why don't you come to my lecture?"

He looked intrigued at the suggestion but declined, "You don't want me there, Cuddy."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," she countered.

He leaned his head back and squinted again. Cuddy followed his gaze to the bird above riding the breeze. "What do you think the odds are that if we sit here long enough, that bird's gonna take a crap?"

Cuddy looked at him, confused by the abrupt change of subject. "What?"

"It's a fair question," he insisted. "It's going to happen at some point. Birds have small digestive tracts, so if it ate anytime in, say, the last fifteen minutes, we're sitting at ground zero."

Cuddy shook her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His gaze returned to her. "Avian metaphor."

Confusion gave way to clarity and Cuddy felt like an idiot for having missed it.

"Do you really think you can't control yourself?" she asked.

"Do you know me?"

"House, I've seen you lecture students. Admittedly your style wasn't conventional but you were very effective," Cuddy assured him, recalling how he'd presented his own case, the infarction in his leg, to teach a diagnostics class.

He cocked his head, pretending to ponder. "Hmmm, metaphor not working. How about urban slang?" He looked at her. "'Don't crap where you eat' … pretty sure you've heard that one."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House, you have something of value to offer these students. You've _actually_ diagnosed a case of Cushing's with an atypical presentation. The gold-standard biomarker was completely missing but you pieced it together and saved a little girl from a radical mastectomy."

House looked away from her, his expression finally serious. He tucked his chin against his chest when he finally responded.

"You have a good gig here, Cuddy," he said, his voice deep and soft. "I won't take a chance of screwing that up for you."

"You won't," Cuddy told him and felt certain of it.

He still doubted though. "One idiotic question might be all it takes," he confessed. "I'm not exactly known for my tolerance of morons."

Cuddy sighed but smiled. "They're students. Moronism and idiocy are expected until they learn."

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "I still say we're at ground zero."

And they were.

The words no more left House's mouth than the bird above them voided its bowels on the walkway, just inches from Cuddy's designer shoes.

"Oh God."


	56. Chapter 56

The medical details in this part come from the first-season episode "Heavy." They are presented here as documented medical facts (even if rare) and tip the hat to "House MD" canon without intent to infringe on copyrights.

* * *

**Part 56**

Cuddy stood at the lectern and watched House answer her students' questions. He was seated at the desk off to the side, his feet propped up while he balanced his cane on the tip of his finger.

"So the high blood pressure from the Cushing's gave her a heart attack?"

"Didn't help but more likely a coincident," House replied. "As Dr. Cuddy said, high blood pressure and elevated cholesterol levels are not uncommon with Cushing's, but the heart attack probably had more to do with the diet pills. Oddly enough, the MI saved her life. And her breasts."

"Her breasts?"

Propping her elbow on the slanted surface that held her notes, Cuddy watched House tip the cane into the air then catch it mid-air as it dropped. He looked out at his audience of young medical minds then cocked his head back and looked over at her.

"Did I forget that part?"

Cuddy smiled at him, knowing he was playing the audience.

"Yes."

"Hmmm."

His sharp blue eyes scanned the gathered students. Cuddy noted they were rapt with attention and perked up even more when he spoke again.

"Skin necrosis. Nasty stuff. Can be as aggressive as a two-dollar hook—"

"House," Cuddy warned, knowing he was headed toward inappropriate territory with _that_ metaphor. He threw her a less-than-apologetic smile.

_He's enjoying this,_ Cuddy mused. It made her happy for him.

"It loves subcutaneous fat," House continued and began twirling his cane between his fingers, like a baton. His dexterity was remarkable.

"It _loved _this girl's chest," he commented.

"How'd you treat it?" a young man in the back asked.

"Heparin," House replied. "Regular and the low molecular weight variety."

"She didn't respond?" Another student piped up, a female this time.

"Nope … hence the plan to do a radical mastectomy." He stopped twirling the cane and looked directly at them. "Not an ideal option for a ten-year-old."

"So what led you to Cushing's?" It came from a bespectacled, white-coated attendee in the front row.

"It fit," House stated and resumed twirling his cane.

The class was clearly confused. Cuddy watched them exchange glances with one another before one of them finally pointed out what she'd been waiting for, and the exact reason she'd asked House to come to the lecture.

"You said there were no elevated cortisol levels in blood tests done by multiple doctors, even your own team." It was said with disbelief.

"Patient was overweight and short despite having tall parents," House began his DDx. "She experienced an episode of temporary psychosis while being treated, had high blood pressure, blood clots, and…" a brief pause, then a hint, "…skin necrosis."

Again the students looked confused. House looked over at Cuddy, asked, "Dr. Cuddy what is an _extremely _rare complication of Cushing's that can cause skin necrosis?"

"Hypercalcemia," Cuddy replied.

"But the coritsol levels…"

House shrugged. "Intermittent and bad timing."

"Tumor?" one of the students asked, finally catching on to where House was going.

"Yep," House replied.

Cuddy watched him plant his cane firmly on the floor, lazily drape his wrist over the curve and look at students intently.

"Thyroid?"

"Nope."

"Pituitary?"

House nodded. "Revealed on MRI."

In the silence that followed House's big reveal, a soft shuffling sound filled the room. Cuddy looked to see the students had sat back in their seats and were now looking at House like he was … a genius.

He was — and a better teacher than he believed himself to be. He'd also managed to behave himself, much to Cuddy's pleasure.

_So much for his avian metaphor_, she mused.


	57. Chapter 57

**Part 57**

"You do realize the irony."

Cuddy cut her eyes at House. She definitely saw the irony in the situation and, though she was no longer angry at him over past events, she wasn't really ready to be … _whatever_ … about it.

Looking at him, she was surprised to see that he wasn't being sarcastic. His expression, if anything, was solemn as he watched the movers assemble his bed in the dining room.

Cuddy'd had them move the formal dining table to the half-renovated third floor, figuring she, House and Rachel could make do with the smaller table in the kitchen since it was just the three of them. Besides, she rarely had any sort of formal dinners that required the seating space and friends, sadly, were few and far between.

But, yes, House's bed, which she'd had brought from the storage facility, being in her dining room was ironic but, admittedly, better than his ancient Dodge Dynasty. For many reasons.

"You didn't have to do this," he said softly. "I would have been alright on the couch."

He might have been "alright" on the couch, but a more comfortable place to sleep would undoubtedly help with his recovery. He hadn't slept much last night. She knew he hadn't because she hadn't either and spent much of it listening to the faint notes from his guitar as he played melancholy tunes interspersed with ones that conveyed frustration, and anger even. She'd considered going downstairs to sit with him, but she'd been afraid Rachel would wake in the night and not be able to find her.

"Don't be an idiot. You need to rest. It will help you recover faster," she told House, knowing the doctor in him couldn't argue with her treatment plan.

Still looking at him, Cuddy saw him look back over his shoulder at another addition to her home, in the bay window area. The couch had been shifted forward to accommodate the baby grand and its bench. Hearing him play the guitar last night had stirred in her a desire to hear more, and to give him another outlet for his emotions. He needed music like everyone else needed air.

Cuddy noted his expression was currently filled with longing, like a little boy who desperately wanted to go outside and play on a sunny day. If Rachel hadn't been staying the night with Janice, Cuddy was fairly sure the little one would have already been banging on the keys.

"Go. Play," she said to House, smiling.

He looked at her. "Later," he said then ducked his head and made his way toward the kitchen.

Cuddy watched him go, confused by his reaction. He'd clearly wanted to go over to the instrument.

Cuddy debated on whether or not she should follow him. She didn't want to push him if he needed time to himself. Despite his welcoming of her in his life, he was still something of a solitary soul. So far, he didn't seem to be keeping himself from her but he'd spent so much of his existence isolated that she had come to understand that he sometimes just couldn't process or communicate right away.

Hoping that was the case, Cuddy gave him the space and finished overseeing the movers. Once they were done, she made a trip upstairs to secure a set of sheets, pillows, and a blanket. She made the bed then went into the kitchen.

She looked outside and saw House sitting in a chair on the small portico out back. Like the day before at the hospital, his face was turned up toward the evening sky, his eyes closed. He still looked troubled.

Cuddy sighed and went over to the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses. She took a pair out and secured a bottle of red from her refrigerator. She filled the glasses halfway then went outside and handed one of them to House. He'd looked over his shoulder at when she'd come out but his eyes were now scanning the shrubbery and flowers that skirted the privacy walls.

"Any thoughts on dinner?" she asked as she sank into the chair beside him. She figured food was a safe subject since he was probably hungry. They hadn't eaten all afternoon.

He looked down at the ground instead of at her when he answered. "Any good Chinese places around here?"

Cuddy smiled. "Yes, I have a menu."

He just nodded, nothing else, and remained silent.

"Are you okay?" she asked, worried.

"Yeah." He did not elaborate or offer any sort of explanation for whatever was going on with him.

Feeling her frustration grow, Cuddy rose to go inside, pausing just long enough to lay her hand on his shoulder and caress him gently. She wanted him to know … she didn't know what.

To her surprise, he brought his hand up and covered hers, held her to him.

Cuddy eased a little with that gesture. She bowed and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, lingering several moments before slipping her hand from beneath his and going inside to order dinner.

They ended up eating in the kitchen. He'd been largely quiet through the meal but not as withdrawn as he'd been earlier. He'd responded when she asked a question and or brought up something. If it'd been warranted, he talked a bit further, but didn't engage in all-out conversation.

Afterward, he'd helped her clean up the takeout containers and they'd sat and watched television for a while. Well, he'd watched it. She'd just sat at the opposite end of the couch and split her time between reading Wilson's journal and watching House.

When the program he'd been watching ended, he turned off the set then looked at her and brought up a practical necessity that had slipped her mind in her eagerness to give him a place comfortable to sleep.

"I need to bathe."

Cuddy groaned and closed up the journal. She placed the leather-bound volume on the coffee table as she offered an apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

"Don't."

He sounded irritated. He looked irritated. He _was_ irritated, she realized when he pushed himself up from the couch and reached for his cane. He didn't retreat as he had earlier but moved to the middle of the room. He looked all around him.

"What?" she asked, deciding now was the time to push him to talk. Whatever it was, he needed to get it out.

He leaned on his cane then gestured all around him. "_This. _You do _all this_ and still feel guilty and the need to apologize because you forgot one thing." His voice was strained when he added, "Just _don't."_

"You're angry?"

"I'm…" he began then seemed to lose the word, or words.

"House…"

He shook his head and looked around. She didn't know if he was looking for an exit or trying to find what he wanted to say.

"Just say it," she prodded.

He lifted his cane off the floor just a bit and tapped it back down. He did that several times before she got up and went to him. He looked at her for maybe all of a half-second before the cane was discarded, sent clattering away as his hands found her face and pulled her into a kiss.

It was hard then turned lush and searing and Cuddy was immediately lost in it. There was no finesse or gentleness, just passion in concert with need.

Her trembling, eager hands helped him shed his shirt then worked with him to discard her own. Mouth claiming hers again and again, he freed her from her bra then shoved her pants to the floor.

His hand was inside her panties, touching her while his tongue tangled with her own. Then he was moving her backward with a gentle push of his palm against her sex. She went and he pursued, his gait uneven but his mouth unrelenting. He stole her breath in kiss after kiss, igniting that burn. _That fire._

Her mouth disengaged from his on a gasp and her gaze went straight down. Her fingers followed. She fumbled to unbutton his jeans and push the zipper down, but she managed it and helped him out of them.

A blur and frenzy. Shoes and socks gone. His briefs and her panties gone. The bed at her back and him moving over her, mouth hot against her skin. Teeth scraping. Tongue lathing. Hands caressing then grasping, hard. Broad palms shoved her legs wide and then he was pushing inside her.

She cried out and clutched to him as he moved in her hard and deep. No words. Just gasps, moans and groans. Body jarring collisions of hips. Skin sliding against skin.

It was a glorious blaze in her flesh and she welcomed the fanning of the flames when he bowed and sucked on her breasts. He bit her nipples and sank a hand in her hair and drew her head back so he could blister her neck.

Legs around his waist, she pulled him ever harder to her, giving and taking. Want and need were all she knew. Then he drew her out of it and drowned her in it again with a rasping groan in her mouth.

"I love you."

She shattered and took him with her.


	58. Chapter 58

**Part 58**

It had needed to happen. Here, in this room.

That's what Cuddy kept telling herself and it was what she believed, even as she iced House's thigh. He was spent, having burned every ounce of his energy in taking her in a fevered rush.

So far, things had been tender and loving, passionate at times, but she knew they'd also been moving inexorably toward an intense unleashing of pent up anger and frustration, grief, fear, worry, and about a dozen other things she could name. Sex was as good an outlet as any. There was healing to be found in it, emotionally at least. House's leg on the other hand…

He'd kind of overdone it. But he wasn't complaining and neither was Cuddy. Some things were worth the price paid. This had been one of those things, which is what he'd told her when she'd come to her senses and realized what he'd done to himself with his efforts. She was glad they'd drained a couple of the smaller hematomas at the hospital this morning.

"Swelling's not too bad," she pronounced and wrapped a towel around the ice packs to keep them in place. She then moved up to lay with House. She rested her head on his arm, which he'd flung out across the mattress. He immediately curled the limb around her, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His thumb idly brushed back and forth against her skin.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked after a short while, her eyes on his profile.

His eyes opened but he didn't look at her. His gaze was on the ceiling. He didn't speak right away but she waited.

"I'm frustrated," he began with the obvious. "I'm in pain … all the time."

"I know," Cuddy whispered.

"An ideal treatment for this tumor is within reach, Cuddy, but a part of me still fears losing my damned leg even though it's the bane of my existence."

That was no surprise. From the start, he'd fought to keep his leg and he paid for it daily with pain.

"I miss the freedom to go where I want when I want and I dread losing what little liberty I have left," he said. "Because I will, and I don't know for how long."

Tears gathering, Cuddy laid a hand over his heart and kept it there. She was dreading that, too.

"I feel _impotent,_ in every sense of the word," he sighed, his frustration clearly discernible. "Stacy is taking care of my legal mess. You're taking care of my medical mess and everything else. I can't dress or undress without help. I can't make love to you when I want to, how I want to. I can barely walk across the room sometimes."

Cuddy watched him close his eyes and felt him take a deep breath.

"And I need Wilson because I need to talk about the biggest part of this."

He looked at her when he made his next confession and Cuddy knew when he said it, that the words were ones he would have spoken to Wilson.

"I have this stunning, sexy, remarkable woman who shouldn't give me the time of day but is actually giving me everything I need without my even asking … and I can't do anything for her. And I'll never deserve her."

Cuddy's tears were flowing freely.

"House…" she whispered, her heart breaking as the reasons for his earlier mood came into full view.

Frustration. Fear. Doubt. Inadequacy. Grief. Love.

Cuddy wished she could change it all, make it better, as Rachel had so definitively declared.

Her hand moving up, she touched House's cheek and coaxed him to turn his head and look at her.

"I love you. Despite every imperfect thing about you and every insane thing you've ever said or done, I love you," she said softly, directly, as a statement of fact. "And it's okay to let yourself be loved. You are not unworthy of that … and Wilson would agree."

"Wilson—" House began but Cuddy cut him off hearing his tone change to one of mockery.

"Loved you unconditionally. He loved you in the way that I failed to love you," Cuddy said, making a confession of her own. "But you are loved … you have _always_ been loved. Even if you, or I, didn't know it or want it or understand it."

"Always?" he asked, eyes holding hers.

Cuddy nodded. "_Always_, House."

His fingers touched her face and she trembled at the gentle grazing through the trails of her tears. "I do love you," he said, his voice thick with the emotion.

"I know," Cuddy whispered.

His eyes searched hers. "What can I do for you?"

It was a question he would have asked Wilson, Cuddy realized, seeking a course of action. For all his genius, House still struggled with the interpersonal things and would have sought out his best friend who'd had a more balanced experience of the world.

Cuddy smiled and made a request as her gaze traveled across the room to the piano then back to him.

"Play something for me."

A tiny bit of a smile emerged along the line of his mouth.

"I'm gonna need a while," he told her.

Cuddy caressed his cheek then pressed a soft kiss to his brow and whispered softly, "I'll wait."


	59. Chapter 59

**Part 59**

It was around one in the morning when House decided to attempt the journey from his bed to the piano, after Cuddy located his cane.

He did surprisingly well considering the stress he'd put on his thigh earlier and now Cuddy was sitting with him on the bench. Her back was to the keyboard but her head was laid on his shoulder. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and her hands were loosely clasped in her lap.

Eyes closed, she listened as House's fingers danced across the keys in a leisurely, improvised tune. The notes were tender and peaceful, comforting and inviting. And Cuddy felt comforted.

When the last note faded away, Cuddy lifted her head and looked at her lover. He met her gaze.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome." His voice was soft and deep.

Smiling, Cuddy leaned in and he met her for a kiss. Unlike earlier, this one was soft and soothing. It warmed her and she instantly melted into it, her hand sliding around to the back of his neck while his arms eased around her, cradled her against him.

When she felt him smile, she pulled back a bit and looked at him. He was definitely amused.

"What?"

"You're making me feel funny."

Cuddy smiled up at him. "Think you can make it back to the bed."

"Oh yeah," he said without a moment's hesitation.

Cuddy eased away from him and rose. Once he was on his feet, she caught his left hand and linked their fingers. He glanced at her and she walked beside him, keeping his pace and smiling in understanding the symbolism of such a simple thing.

This time would be tender. His darker emotions had settled and been replaced with a quiet sort of stillness that bespoke of an inner strength formed through suffering.

When they reached the bed, Cuddy eased the cane from his hand and leaned it against the wall. He reached and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore — it was his. She looked up at him and tried to steady her heart as his fingers moved from one button to the next then gently parted the fabric. He guided it back slowly to reveal her to him. His eyes showed his appreciation but it was love that took her breath away when he met her gaze.

Cuddy thought he was going to say something but the words died somewhere between his brain and mouth and he simply leaned down to kiss her instead.

She moved closer to him and gave into the desire to touch him. She glided her hands lightly over his skin, around his shoulders then up to hold his face as his lips caressed hers, coaxing thready breaths from her.

She loved this. Him. She thought to tell him but said only his name instead, the soft rasping of his stubble against her mouth and chin sending shivers through her.

He whispered her name in reply, his hands finding her breasts for a fleeting caress before smoothing then around her waist and up over her back. Her breath caught when he pulled her up against him. And he kissed her softer still.

When he finally set her back on her feet, he looked at her in undisguised want, with that vulnerability that always made her want to protect and shelter him from the hurts of the world.

Feeling his need against her belly, she eased back and moved onto the bed, laying on her side. She watched him shed his briefs and waited for him to join her. When he did, she moved immediately into his arms and hooked her leg around his waist. He eased into her and let out a sound that communicated both pleasure and relief. He buried his face in her neck and just lay still with her, their bodies joined.

Cuddy held him and kissed his temple and cheek. When she kissed his shoulder he shifted to meet her mouth. Then he was moving inside her, so slow as his hand glided from her waist to her hip, following the line of her leg to her ankle.

He eased his mouth from hers and watched her. And she watched him, loving the expressiveness of his face, how he looked so at peace.

This was Gregory House, the terribly vulnerable man who hid from the world. His trust touched her. His love called to her.

Touching his cheek, Cuddy watched his eyes close then open again. She angled her head when he sought out her mouth again so he could fit them together as perfectly as the rest of them.

Cuddy gave herself to him then, more than she'd given before and it came as naturally as breathing. Later she would wonder why she'd ever fought it but now, just now, she needed, and she wanted, and she loved. And she was overwhelmed.

Pulling her mouth from his, she sought refuge in the curve of his neck, tears slipping from her tightly shut eyes. His hand cradled her to him and he pressed his cheek to hers.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Let it come."

She did, in time, and it washed over and through her and rebounded into him.


	60. Chapter 60

**Part 60**

House was her safe place.

Cuddy had never thought of him that way in the past, except for rare, small spaces in time. But things were different. They'd both changed and grown, and were growing closer. Whatever uncertainties awaited them, the situation had pared away all the crap that'd kept them dancing around each other for years.

Wilson's illness and death had set things in motion.

Cuddy wished she could thank their friend. And she wished he was here for House. Much as House loved her, he still looked for that touchstone, his best friend who had often helped him navigate the waters that scared the hell out of him, especially those that pertained to her. Now he was having to learn to talk to her.

In reading another of Wilson's journal entries, Cuddy was learning that House had talked about her at times, but not at length. Wilson had observed that contrition and regret were the foremost emotions House expressed over his implosion that fateful afternoon and the cost of it.

….

_He loves Cuddy but he's terrified of what she represents. She is the mirror he's afraid to look into because he sees only his flaws and failures, and what could have been. She is everything he wants and needs and can't have. The guilt and longing eat at him when he allows himself to think of her. He is solemn on those days and usually just wants to ride until we're both exhausted._

_When Dominika returned and moved in with him, I thought he might find at least a measure of happiness with her. I even encouraged him to let himself have it. She was beautiful, sweet, and vibrant and did not pose anywhere near the risk Cuddy had. But he hadn't been able to do it. He told me he'd never even slept with her, which is saying something for a man who has no qualms about calling hookers. _

_A few nights ago, I asked him why and his answer had been remarkably straightforward for him. There'd been no metaphors or sarcastic deflection. Just an answer: I still love her. _

_He did not say her name but he might as well have. He sounds different when he talks about Cuddy. I doubt he'll ever have the courage to approach her because he fears her condemnation above all else, even my death. Losing her once was enough, to lose her again… I'm not sure he'd survive it._

_But he might surprise me. He's been known to do that. He did yesterday when he actually confessed he was lost without her. We both are in a way, just wanderers now in a world that isn't touched by her unique brightness. She was the third leg of our tripod, though I doubt she'd appreciate the analogy. But it is undeniable that our existence is colder without her in it._

_And why do most of my journal entries end up being about House? _

_I'm pathetic, something House wouldn't hesitate to tell me if he knew. Which is why I won't tell him. That and I fear his ego would inflate enough to suck the oxygen out of the northern hemisphere._

….

Cuddy heard Wilson's voice as she read his words and smiled over the last bit.

Closing up the journal, she looked at the man laying beside her, sleeping in her dining room, in his bed. He was sprawled out across the mattress, the covers haphazardly thrown across his waist. His mangled thigh was exposed in the light that came from the lamp she'd put on a chair by the bed.

Her eyes were invariably drawn there, the doctor in her assessing the wound, the woman in her commiserating over the agony it caused him.

She had no business being awake. She had work in the morning but sleep had been elusive in the wake of their lovemaking. It shouldn't have been but she'd found herself wondering how she could rectify the bathing situation. She'd sought out her computer and found a couple of folding tub options, then she'd picked up Wilson's journal and come back to bed. That's where she'd made the mistake. Reading before bed could either ease you to sleep or keep you up all night. Since it was nearly three, she could safely say the latter had won out.

Problem was she had to get up in two hours and get ready for work. She could technically push it back a half-hour since Rachel was at Janice's, but she feared going off into a deep enough sleep that she'd feel like crap when she did get up.

Frankly, she would love to call in but she was already behind on her workload. She had so much to catch up on and…

"What time do you have to be in?"

The question came on a sigh heavy with slumber and it made her smile.

"A couple hours," she replied as she leaned over and placed Wilson's journal on the floor, tucked just under the chair and out of any potential harm's way.

She shut off the lamp then eased closer to House. He held out his arm in welcome and kissed her brow when she settled her head on his shoulder.

"Want some advice?"

"Sure," she said, closing her eyes.

"Find someplace your boss can't find you and take a nap."

"Because that worked out so well for you," Cuddy said, smiling. "I always found you, or knew where you were."

"You knowingly let an employee sleep on the job, Dr. Cuddy? How unprofessional of you."

He sounded more awake than he should of been.

"I only indulge insomniacs I like," she countered, and it was more true than he probably realized.

"On behalf of Cuddy-likable insomniacs everywhere, I thank you," he said as he covered her hand where it rested on his chest. "Now go to sleep."

"You first," she shot back, unable to resist the urge to goad him, sensing he was in a playful mood.

"Okay."

"God, you're easy," she said even though she knew it was the_ farthest_ thing from the truth.

"Said no one_ ever,_" he countered then returned to his previous track despite his being obviously amused. "Go to sleep, Cuddy."

"I planned to, but I'm not the one who started this conversation," she felt the need to point out.

"This is not a conversation. It's _you keeping me awake_."

"I stand by my original diagnosis … you started it."

"Now I'm finishing it," he said. "Go to sleep, woman."

"One condition," she tossed out on impulse.

"What?"

"Cook me breakfast."

"Just like a woman," he replied on an overly dramatic sigh, "Finds out a man can cook and he becomes a slave in the kitchen."

Smiling, Cuddy teased, "Complaining?"

"I'd rather be your love slave."

"Okay," she conceded, "You can be that, too."

"Good, that's decided," he said then kissed her brow and murmured against her skin, "Now… Go. To. Sleep."

"God, you're bossy," Cuddy accused as she snuggled a bit closer to him.

"I know that's usually your job but I'm feeling the need to wear the pants at the moment."

Cuddy laughed softly, "You're not wearing anything."

"Speaking of which, why are you? Wearing something, that is."

"I got up," she shrugged then asked even though she knew the answer, "Do you want me to get up again?"

"God, no. I want to sleep," he groaned but it was half-hearted. He was clearly enjoying the exchange. So was she.

"Then shut up," she told him.

Cuddy felt the muscles in his cheek bunch against her brow. "Okay."

"Okay? We're back to that?"

He was still smiling when he replied, "Apparently."

"Okay."

There was a pause and she could tell he wasn't quite done yet.

"Cuddy?"

Cuddy smiled. "What?"

"Go to sleep."

"Shut up," she said on a laugh and felt him laugh silently when he replied.

"Okay."


	61. Chapter 61

**Part 61**

"They've suspended my medical license."

Cuddy's heart sank. It wasn't unexpected but that didn't make it any easier to hear. She looked at House, who was sitting in the chair in front of her desk. His gaze was on her name plaque.

"House—" she began but he cut her off.

"We knew it was coming," he said. "Only surprise is that it took them this long."

"What did Stacy say?"

"'I'm sorry, Greg,'" he replied then pushed up from the chair. He met Cuddy's gaze briefly. "Been hearing that one a lot lately," he said then began making his way around her desk. "That and 'oh my god, you're_ not dead_'," he tossed out as he reached the window.

Sarcasm. His first line of defense.

Cuddy turned in her chair and watched him glance outside before looking down. He tapped his cane on the floor a couple times then planted it and leaned heavily on the handle. She wished she knew what to say to him, how to help him. In the past, she would have been in a position to fight for him, or at least a better one. But she didn't know what she could do for him now … and he knew she was struggling with the helplessness, just as he had.

"House..."

"It's okay," he said, his head still bowed, but his eyes peering from under his brow at her for a moment before again looking out the window.

No, it wasn't okay. There had to be something that someone could do. If not her, then Stacy, or Foreman, or Chase. For God's sake, they could all stand up for him, testify, send letters to the State Medical Board in regards to his value as a physician, about the lives he'd saved and could…

"Stop."

Cuddy met House's gaze.

"You're heading around the corner again."

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy rose and went over to him. "I'm always going to worry, House," she said with a resigned shake of her head. "It's in my nature. Like guilt."

"Thanks to your mother," he said, adding, "Do your think you'd feel as guilty if she _hadn't_ converted to Judaism?"

Ignoring the deflecting dig at her mother, who unfortunately fit the stereotype, Cuddy leaned back against the window sill and crossed her arms.

"I spent a dozen years watching your back," Cuddy told him. "I don't know how to _not_ do it."

"You cleaned up my messes," he contradicted.

"It was my job," Cuddy said, knowing that it wasn't just that. And he knew it, too.

"No it wasn't," he said, eyes intent on hers. "Any other administrator would have fired me five minutes into my first shift. They probably wouldn't have even considered me for an interview." He ducked his head. "I never properly thanked you for that."

"I never expected you to," she told him because she'd known who he was when she hired him. Still, he had said it a few times over the years, after specific instances of her saving his ass, and that had been enough because she hadn't hired him so he'd feel beholden.

He looked out the window again.

"Truth is, I would have been out of medicine a long time ago if you hadn't given me a chance," he stated plainly. "That deserved a genuine 'thank you', not years of pathological juvenile delinquency and harassment."

Cuddy frowned.

"Surely you don't think that's all there was," she said, prompting him to look at her again. "The jokes about the size of my ass and the ogling of my breasts, the sarcasm, the pranks … all that is just part of the package that is Greg House. I knew that going in."

Unfolding her arms, Cuddy laid a hand on his arm but he didn't look at her when she continued.

"House, when I hired you, I also knew you were going to do insane things, push the line, even cross over it. You were an egotistical, antisocial ass and a nightmare from a management and human resources standpoint, but you were worth every fight because you could and did save lives that no one else could. You can't dismiss that. You did those things and I saw you do them. And I loved you for it," Cuddy said, her heart pounding with the strength of her conviction. "And I want to fight for you now because I still believe you're worth it. You just tell me you want it and I'll do it, without hesitation."

While she watched, House tilted his head back and closed his eyes before looking down again. He raised his forearm slowly and she let her hand slide down to meet his. He laced their fingers and stared at them, his thumb brushing the back of hers. After a few moments, he finally broke his silence.

"Do you think we could get out of here for a while?" he asked.

Cuddy needed to work but she wasn't about to deny him.

"Just let me get someone to cover my patients."


	62. Chapter 62

**Part 62**

"Are you enjoying being a doctor again?"

House asked the question as they walked northward on the hospital grounds.

"I never stopped being a doctor," Cuddy replied then added when he cut her a look, "Technically. I just didn't have much time to practice."

"The woes of administration and management," he chimed, his eyes on the cobblestone pathway that required his near constant attention. The brim of his flat cap shaded his face as he looked down. "You were a good one, by the way," he said, "Administrator, that is. Foreman sucks at it. He lacks the ability to bust balls. Not enough shrew in him."

Cuddy rolled her eyes but didn't comment, at least not about that.

"I don't miss the paperwork," she said, the breeze whipping her hair and roaring briefly in her ear. "Or the HR complaints."

"I heard those dropped dramatically during my incarceration," he said, "They went back up, of course, once the state let me out for good behavior. I find their decision rather idiotic considering what I did to get there and my history of human interaction in general. I take some solace in knowing the overcrowding issue was the overwhelming factor, not my vow to 'be good'."

God, Cuddy hated it when he talked like that, denigrating himself under the guise of wit.

"House," she chided and earned an appropriately apologetic, "Sorry. Old habits."

Cuddy linked her arm through his, asked, "How's your leg?"

"Still there," he answered as they stepped off the cobblestone and onto a standard sidewalk.

"Did you miss it?" he asked as he led them on.

"Miss what?"

"Medicine."

Cuddy didn't know how to answer that. Medicine had been a part of her life even as an administrator. Managing him alone had guaranteed she had to stay on her toes, if only to keep him from doing something off-the-charts crazy and completely unethical.

"I was surrounded by medicine," she finally said. "I've found what I missed was making a difference in a patient's life."

"You did that every day as an administrator, for hundreds of people," he stated then cut his eyes at her, adding. "They just didn't have the privilege of meeting Patty and Selma before the rest of you came into the room."

Cuddy groaned. "God, House. Why do you insist on naming them?"

"Because they're worthy of worship and deities have names," he replied, swinging his cane up with a little flourish.

"Then why not Artemis and Athena?" she asked.

"Because they were virgins," he replied. "And I know from personal experience that your breasts _aren't_."

Cuddy shook her head at him. "So chain-smoking ladies with purple hair … you're an acknowledged genius and that's the best you can do?"

"Sorry, I have all the intelligence of a hormonal fourteen-year-old boy when confronted with your cleavage," he replied then came to a sudden halt, forcing her to stop. His expression was incredulous. "There's _no way_ you've watched that show."

"Why do you find that hard to believe?" she asked.

"Well, for one, you don't have cable," he pointed out.

"I didn't … until you called and had it installed when I wasn't home," she countered. "And I've had it since I moved here so Rachel could watch that terrible cartoon."

His eyes widened a bit. "I swear, Cuddy, I'll eat my cane here and now if you have watched one single episode all the way through."

"As much as I'd like to see that—"

"Ha!" It was a gleeful shout followed by a challenge. "Admit it, Cuddy. You were curious and looked it up."

Cuddy tried to scowl but failed miserably in the face of his absolute delight.

"Yes," she confessed and was kissed unexpectedly, a quick smack on the lips that left her somewhat stunned. "What was that for?"

"Well, I can't exactly kiss _them_ in public," he said, looking at her chest, "and motorboating wool would chafe."

Cuddy was suddenly very glad it was cold enough to require a heavy coat. "You're impossible," she told him but fell back into step with him when he started moving on.

They were both quiet for a while and Cuddy noted that House's amusement waned as their pace grew steadily slower. He showed no sign of stopping, though, as if he had a destination in mind and was determined to make it there. Cuddy had no idea where but he had gone to school at the university.

When they reached a cross-street, he finally stopped and pulled out the cellphone she'd gotten for him. He called for a cab then took her by the hand and led her over to a covered bus bench, out of the wind.

He sat slowly and she joined him. She looked at him closely and saw an all-too-familiar look of misery.

"Your medicine?"

He shook his head. "Forgot it," he said as he leaned back and stretched his leg out in front of him. Without his prescription, all they could do was wait for the cab to arrive.

When it did, Cuddy helped House to his feet and into the back seat. Once she was inside with him, Cuddy started to tell the driver to take them back to the hospital main entrance but House interjected with a street address.

"Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something," he said then stared out the window. Whatever this was, it was important to him.

When they neared the destination, Cuddy saw why. Her heart fell into her stomach at the sight of a group of young men wearing shoulder pads and helmets, jerseys thrown over their shoulders, and hands carrying the other easily identifiable gear for their sport: gloves and netted sticks.

_Lacrosse. _It had been his sport in college.

"House…" Cuddy began as the cab pulled to a stop in front of an enclosed structure that bore a sign designating it as an indoor practice facility.

Ignoring her, House opened the door and somehow managed to hoist himself out of the cab. Cuddy paid the cabbie then took House's hand and let him guide her out onto the sidewalk with him.

House stood for several moments just looking up at the sign, then limped his way forward, following the group of athletes into the building. He drew her with him but came to a sudden halt just a few feet inside.

The sounds of coaches and players shouting, of blown whistles and the clack of clashing sticks, the whip and swoosh of netting through the air echoed in the entry.

They washed over Cuddy and she felt them hit House. His whole body jerked with the impact of what she suspected was memory. She looked at him and saw pain that was not physical in nature.

More players entered and moved around them. A few looked back in curiosity while the others continued on, talking about girls, classes, and other things.

Cuddy lost the ability to discern their words when House squeezed her hand and drew her with him into the cavernous room that held the field. He led her to the bleachers and managed to step up one level before she told him to not go higher.

Surprisingly, or not, he acquiesced and sat where she directed. She sat beside him and saw his sharp eyes take in the players and follow the ball as it was tossed from net to net. Every now and then he'd say something under his breath, a direction to one of the players. If they didn't do it right, he'd mutter "no" and shake his head.

After several minutes, Cuddy was ready to say something, worried that he'd disconnected but he surprised her by speaking first.

"I miss this," he said softly.


	63. Chapter 63

**Part 63**

"It's pure … like medicine."

House's blue eyes turned to Cuddy and she saw something she'd never seen there before. She couldn't identify it but it had overridden his pain.

"Do you remember? The games at Michigan."

Cuddy nodded and gave him a bit of a smile, her worry easing at his conversational tone.

"You were quite the star," she said then confessed, "I only went because I was curious about what my sorority sisters found so drool-worthy."

"I know," he grinned and there was a healthy bit of ego in the expression, but not what she might have expected from him in the past. "It's also why you put on my jersey that night. You wanted to see what I would do if you wore it around my apartment."

"Yes," Cuddy confessed and felt a flush of heat. She had definitely found out what he would do. He hadn't even bothered to take it off her when he took her back to his bedroom.

He was still grinning. "That memory has kept me warm on many a cold, lonely night, Lisa Cuddy."

Cuddy could admit the same, but she didn't. She wasn't embarrassed but it _was_ obscene how many times it'd played a prominent role in her bedroom activities — alone and with someone else. It was one thing to masturbate to the memory of an intent and lust-driven Greg House screwing her brains out against a wall. To think about him when she was with another man was something entirely different. Not that her brain had ever given a damn.

House looked back to the practice when he spoke again. "I had two good legs back then," he said, his voice soft. "It'd be risky to try that with you now."

"House, what are we doing here?" Cuddy asked, suddenly not so sure this was about sports or college memories, or sex.

"I lost this long before my leg went bust," he said, tipping his chin in the direction of the field. "I gave it up for medicine," he said then bowed his head, "I gave you up for medicine."

House had told her this before, several years ago. He'd wanted her to know that he hadn't wanted their one-night stand to be just that. The news that he would have to repeat his last year of medical school had derailed his plans to pursue more with her. He'd been devastated.

"Temporarily," she said and watched a smile turn up the corner of his mouth.

"I think if a hiatus lasts more than a decade it's no longer considered temporary," he said then looked at her, his gaze infinitely serious.

"I need medicine, Cuddy," he said softly, then added softer still, "But not more than I need you."

Releasing House's hand, Cuddy reached and touched his face, cradling his jaw in her palm. She loved him more than she could have ever imagined. She whispered his name and he flashed her a quick smile before that seriousness returned.

"I've made a decision," he said and Cuddy let her hand slide down to his shoulder and over his back. She felt a wave of relief at his answer. If he was going to fight…

"I'll start making calls," she said.

A gentle shake of his head turned her relief into something else … apprehension. There was something about the gesture...

"Fighting for medicine is a given," he said. "You fighting for me is also a given. We've both known that from the start."

Cuddy watched him look down at his leg and reach to rub the muscles just above his knee. He spoke as he did so.

"I'm in pain, Cuddy."

"I know," she spoke softly. Even if she wasn't a doctor, she'd be able to see that.

"I'm tired."

She knew that, too, brought her hand back up to rub the back of his neck.

"I'm not sure I can do this any more."

Cuddy's hand stilled, her heart taking another nosedive. He wasn't talking about her or them. If he had been, his manner would be different. This was something else. This was…

"House, what happened at your appointment today?" Cuddy asked, unable to keep her worry and fear from staining her words.

"The tumor's grown."

_Oh, God._

"Beyond the study's limits?" she asked quickly.

"Not yet," he said with a shake of his head. He looked at her. "But it will."

Resignation. She heard it and saw it.

"Can they move up the procedure?" She was desperate to find hope for him.

He just held her gaze. "They're considering it."

She searched his eyes. He wasn't hopeful. There was still that damned resignation.

"The still healing injury and existing scar tissue combined further complicate things," he said.

Cuddy was beginning to feel a sense of panic and tears were on the verge of forming. She felt the need to _do _something.

"I'll talk to them," she said. "If they move it up…"

"Cuddy."

It was said so softly that her heart stopped a moment. He just looked at her and she knew…

"They're not going to do it," she anticipated.

"No," he said, glanced out at the field again. "The review board is going to turn down the request." His gaze on her once more, he explained, "I was a marginal candidate to begin with but with the speed of the growth... They aren't going to risk the results."

There were times Cuddy hated how the medical world worked and now was one of them, even if she understood why. This could be a breakthrough treatment for hundreds of thousands of people and it would be irresponsible to torpedo the study with a subject that barely met the acceptance criteria.

"Then we revisit the other treatments," she said, trying to override disappointment with reason. "We evaluate and reassess, and choose the next best option."

He smiled at her a little.

"Cuddy, if conviction and determination alone could eradicate disease, you'd be the cure."

She wished she could be. God, did she wish that, but she'd settle for just being able to cure him. That resignation he was projecting was beginning to grate.

"Are you going to give up?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He shook his head. "I'm considering the other options."

His answer eased the heaviness in her heart, but not nearly as much as she would have liked. The conversation wasn't over.

"But I'm tired."

He had said that earlier, and she'd thought he'd meant from the exertion of their walk, the fact he still had trouble sleeping. But it wasn't what he'd meant. His next words said it all, and they were ones she'd heard before, too, from him, while trying to help a young woman trapped in the rubble of a building.

"And this is just a leg."

Cuddy's breath caught. She touched his face again, listened as he continued to speak.

"All it's done is make me miserable, angry and bitter," he said softly, "You've seen what I've allowed it to do to me and what I've done to everyone around me."

She'd seen it and grieved the way it had eaten away at him, how it consistently overtook the the best parts of him.

"You want to amputate," she whispered and the words tasted like blasphemy.

"It's still not my first choice," he stated, "but it is a choice that I've made."

"House?" she asked, confused. He'd said he was considering the other options.

"Quality of life," he said softly and she knew he'd seen her confusion. "I've learned a thing or two about that in the last six months."

_Wilson._

"I need you to do for my leg what I did for Wilson."

The words stunned her.

"I won't make that choice for you, House," she said on reflex. She'd seen what'd happened when Stacy had gone against his wishes. It'd been the downward spiral in their relationship and in House's life. Fury over the betrayal had consumed him and the pain had magnified it. Cuddy wouldn't add to that. She wouldn't be driven out of his life. As his medical proxy, Cuddy would make any other medical decisions necessary but this one had to be his.

"I've already made it," he said with a clarity and patience that freed her tears. "But I need you there, Cuddy. I may not be where I can tell them and I trust you to know if it's time to rid me of it, once and for all."

Trust. It was a beautiful but fragile thing. He did not give it easily, but he had always trusted her to protect him from overzealous, even well-meaning surgeons. And she had, every time he'd asked, even though she'd known the pain he would continue to endure because of it. He was asking the same of her now but was also giving her something she'd never had before: the freedom to end his pain. That she could do.

"Okay," she whispered, drawing her thumb across his cheek and nodding. "Okay."


	64. Chapter 64

**Part 64**

"Good night, House."

Cuddy smiled as she watched Rachel kiss House on the cheek. He was laying back in the collapsible tub she'd secured this morning. A towel was draped across the basin for modesty's sake, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the situation anyway. Which was understandable since Rachel's reappearance downstairs had been unexpected. Cuddy had thought her upstairs waiting for her bath, like she'd been told to do.

_So much for that_, Cuddy mused, having seen House first flinch at the sound of Rachel's voice, then the little peck on the cheek.

"Night, kid," he said, half-scowling as he watched Rachel bound off.

"Sorry about that," Cuddy offered as took him a tumbler with two fingers of scotch.

"Stealthy. Capable of ambushing me when I'm sleeping. Loves kissing me," House looked up at her, "She reminds me of you minus the big—"

"Shut up," Cuddy cut him off and handed him the drink. "And you weren't asleep."

"_Yet_," he stressed, wet fingers curling around the weighted base of the glass.

Bending, Cuddy kissed the top of his head then followed after her daughter. "I'm going up to get her ready for bed."

"Stop teaching her your evil ways!"

Cuddy smiled at hearing House call out after her. She loved that he'd been in a good mood since they'd come home. After their talk today, she had expected the seriousness would overshadow the evening, but it hadn't. If anything, he seemed… relaxed.

Making a decision about something significant could have that effect and, for House, the decision to put amputation on the table was about as significant a decision as they came. He'd fought from the start to keep his leg, even at the potential cost of his life. But today…

The true impact of Wilson's last months and death on House had made itself known today.

The man House had been before would have desperately grasped onto any strand of hope offered him, no matter how crazy or risky. Cuddy had seen him do it, more than once. But he wasn't grasping any more. He had evaluated his situation logically and rationally for the first time since the infarction, and taken into account more than the medical equation and his pride.

Quality of life. The quality of _his _life. That mattered now, to him.

It had always mattered to those who loved him most.

Cuddy herself, Wilson, and Stacy — they had all wanted more for him than a life of pain. They'd known there was so much more to Greg House than misery. But he'd let the betrayal and pain define him and it had debilitated him, not just physically but emotionally and psychologically. He had used it as both a crutch and weapon, and as an excuse for the inexcusable.

But not any more.

That House no longer wanted pain to be the measuring stick of his life filled Cuddy with a deep joy. He still wanted to try to save the limb if possible, but he was finally ready to let it go, too. It was a profound acceptance for him and the ultimate display of his trust in her.

Finding Rachel upstairs, a light-hearted Cuddy helped her bathe then dress for bed. She read her daughter a bit of a story then tucked her in.

"Mommy will be downstairs tonight," she said, kissing Rachel on the brow.

"With House?"

"Yes, but I'll have this on," Cuddy said, reaching and turning on the baby monitor beside Rachel's bed. She had gotten the system out of storage so that she could stay downstairs and but be alerted if Rachel woke in need of her. "Now go to sleep, sweetheart."

Kissing Rachel once more, Cuddy eased out of the room and closed the door behind her, and hoped the little one would fall asleep soon.

Back downstairs, Cuddy set the baby monitor by the bed then went to the kitchen. House was still in the tub, which wasn't surprising. In addition to the heat helping his leg, the collapsible tub, while convenient, was also a bit daunting to get in and out of for someone with balance issues. After the near disaster of getting him in it, there was no way he'd try to get out on his own. She didn't want him to hurt himself, and then there was the potential of water damage.

"Do you always frown like that when there's a naked man in your kitchen, or it just when there's a naked man, in a bathtub, in your kitchen?"

Cuddy smiled. "Your eyes are closed. How do you know I'm frowning?"

His eyes opened and he looked at her. "You were frowning," he declared. "I heard you."

"You can't hear a frown," she said and went to pour herself a glass of wine.

"I can," he stated as he rested his head back against the edge of the basin. "You know how when someone loses their hearing or sight, their other senses get stronger?"

"Yes," she said, bringing her wine and sitting down at the table, pulling her feet up into the chair with her. "But you've lost neither your hearing or sight."

"True, but I have a pain in my leg…" he began, turning his head and looking at her with one of those faces that made her want to either kiss him or toss something at him. She debated on which it would be while he continued his explanation. "…and it gave me the ability to hear facial expressions."

She didn't have anything to throw at him so she rolled her eyes and took a drink of wine. "You're an ass."

"And you have a big ass," he said and tipped his glass toward her in a salute.

She returned the gesture, adding, "But it's not the biggest _ass_ in this room."

"Oh, you're good!"

Smiling, Cuddy made an observation, "You know, I have no idea why I love you."

"It's my charming wit and winning personality," he asserted. "And then there's that little thing that I do with my tongue that makes you squeal in ecstasy."

Cuddy shook her head. She did make a sound when he did _that_, but it was not a squeal. "I do _not_ squeal," she protested.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Wanna bet?"

For an entirely legitimate reason, his response turned Cuddy on. She wondered if there was a correlation between his incessant need to banter with her and his ability to do scandalous things with his tongue. _Probably._

"You do, I can tell," he said before she could answer then made a show of looking around the room. "We'll need a recorder of some sort. Video would be _awesome_."

Cuddy wagged her finger at him. "House, we _are not_ making a sex tape."

"Bummer," he said then finished off the scotch.

Cuddy rose to take the glass from him. "More?"

He shook his head. "Water's getting cool," he said, his eyes expressing mock concern. "Need to get out before _Little Greg_ becomes _Micro Greg_."

"Can't have that happening," Cuddy commented and moved around the back of the tub to turn on the pump that would drain the water. As she did, she gave into temptation, bent down and whispered into House's ear before she switched the machine on, "I'm going to have need of _Big_ Greg in a while."

The pump came noisily to life when she flipped the switch.

When she stood, she was delighted to see House's mouth hanging open. Not surprisingly, he recovered quickly and grinned.

"You are _so_ on."


	65. Chapter 65

**Part 65**

"You're gonna wake up the kid."

It was a deep, breathless laugh and it made Cuddy laugh despite being deliriously aroused.

"Shut up and get back to work," she panted.

"Slave driver," he playfully grumbled then went back to work, drawing yet another moan from her.

Cuddy reached for his head and urged him closer. He did _that_ thing and her toes curled in pleasure, pressed into his shoulders and pulled at him.

"Oh… God… House…"

It was a series of gasps that dissolved into a groan of frustration.

The kitchen table had been a good idea for him, letting him sit but she kept sliding across the surface, away from him. Just far enough, at just the wrong time. And he was letting it happen, waiting until she expressed her discontent before slowly pulling her back to him and starting all over.

She knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to make her squeal. He'd taken their earlier exchange as a challenge and while she'd been up for it initially, he'd succeeded in building a need in her for something more … _substantial_.

Moving her legs to either side of him, Cuddy sat up. He guided her with gentle hands, his expression one of concern. She told him what she needed.

"I want you inside me."

She watched his look of concern become one of understanding and longing. That always happened when she expressed her need of him so specifically.

He pushed himself up from the chair and held his hands out to her. "Come on," he said softly and steadied her as she dismounted the table.

She went with him to the bed and let him position her how he wanted her, accommodating his physical needs. It was second nature to do so, trusting him to know what would work best for them both.

This time he wanted her back to him. She trembled when he eased up behind her, sliding one arm beneath her head. He brought the covers with him, pulling them up over their bodies. The fabric billowed then settled over them with a warm, puffing breath.

The unexpected caress sent a shiver through her. She closed her eyes and reached back for her lover. Her hand curled around his head and followed his assent. He grazed his whiskered chin across her shoulder then rested his cheek against hers.

"I love how you feel," he whispered while he sent a broad hand around the curve of her ass. At his direction, she eased her leg forward and was rewarded with a sensual caress to her sex.

"House," she breathed as his long fingers moved over then slipped inside her.

Cuddy's hand moved from his head and reached back for his arm. Her fingers closed around his forearm and held while he worked her slowly.

His other arm curled around her and cuddled her close to his chest.

A deep moan erupted from her when he found when he was looking for. "There it is," he murmured and kissed her cheek while she writhed in his embrace. He braced her when she shuddered from the intensity of the pleasure.

"That feels good." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she answered anyway, his voice inducing in her another kind of pleasure, one that didn't begin in the flesh but somewhere else altogether. It fed her need for him.

"House," she called to him on a rushed breath.

He shushed her softly, stroked her with deliberate intent, and whispered, "I want you coming."

He got what he wanted. She lurched with the strength of it, cried out softly then plaintively when he replaced his fingers with the part of him she ached for. His moan was a deep, strained sound that tapered into a heavy breath.

He angled her forward and rocked into her. She held to his arms, which held her. He pressed his brow into the curve of her neck. His panting, groan-laced breaths stirred her hair and ghosted across her skin.

Sensations upon sensations. And more sensations when his fingers delved between her thighs and caressed in time with the motions of his hips.

It was too much and not enough.

"House," she whimpered, feeling her end approaching, needing it like she needed to breathe.

"I'm with you," he assured her and she heard the unraveling in his deep voice. It was enough to have her begging him to end them both.

"Please now," she pleaded, feeling the tale-tell tensing of his body against hers.

He was so close. Then he was there and she felt him pouring into her with love-filled groan of her name.

That finished her.


	66. Chapter 66

**Part 66**

"Whatever you're going to do, do it as soon as possible."

That was the advice of House's lawyer and ex, Stacy Warner, and Cuddy didn't like it. Medical decisions shouldn't be rushed unless it was an emergency, especially when evaluations were still ongoing, and definitely not in a case as complicated as House's. Not that the legal system gave a damn.

"The minute they find out you're out of the study, they're going to want you back in New Jersey," Stacy explained. "Maybe even jail if they feel you've given them the run around."

Stacy was sitting on the loveseat in Cuddy's living room while House and Cuddy occupied the couch. House had his right foot resting on the coffee table and was fiddling with his cane, rolling it back and forth between his thumb and index finger of his right hand.

Stacy was leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees, hands clasped in front of her. Her demeanor was one of utter seriousness. House's was, too, when he replied.

"I'm not out," he said with a quick glance to Cuddy. "They haven't given me the boot yet."

The lawyer looked confused. "I thought you said you were out?"

He shook his head. "Still waiting on the review board's decision."

"So you're out, just not officially?" Stacy asked.

"Yeah." House bowed his head. "I expect their answer in a couple days. I can appeal," he noted, "but it would just be delaying the inevitable."

"Do it anyway," Stacy advised. "It'll buy you some time to consider your options and me some to come up with an argument to keep you here to undergo whatever treatment you choose."

House nodded. "It won't buy much, but—"

"It's better than no time," Cuddy interjected, drawing House's gaze to her. They'd discussed the possibility of all of this last night, which is why House had asked Stacy to come today. They understood the medicine side, but not the legal and wanted to know before going forward.

"Do it, Greg," Stacy stated firmly. "And do it immediately upon getting the decision. Don't wait even a day."

"I will," House replied then pushed himself up from the couch. He struggled a bit to find his balance, shuffling a half-step before getting his cane where he needed it. He then headed toward the back of the house, announcing he had to pee.

Stacy watched him go and Cuddy saw her frown when she noted how pronounced House's limp had become. Looking to Cuddy, Stacy asked a question.

"How is he really?"

Cuddy wasn't sure how much she should say. House was a private man, largely as a matter of self-preservation, and it hurt him when his confidences were exposed. Cuddy thought she might have some leeway with Stacy but proceeded with caution. As far as she knew, Stacy was unaware that Cuddy had known House was alive for months.

"Hurting," Cuddy said, stating the obvious first before adding, "and afraid."

Stacy nodded. "Is he talking to you?"

"Yes."

"That's good to hear," Stacy replied. "He's usually so closed off about this sort of thing."

"He's different," Cuddy said with a smile.

Stacy returned her smile. "I noticed," she said then looked over to the dining area at House's bed. "He can't make the stairs?"

"Just the front steps."

A heavy sigh came from the attorney. She looked at Cuddy again. "How serious is this, Lisa?"

It was an open-ended question and not specific. Cuddy didn't know if Stacy was talking about House's leg, or Cuddy's relationship with House, which made her unsure of how to answer. So she asked a question instead.

"He hasn't talked to you about it?"

"I just know what I saw in Princeton and he told me enough medical details to convince the judge to let him come here," Stacy said then asked, her concern practically palpable, "Is it as bad as before, with the infarction?"

_House's medical condition._

Cuddy was honest with her friend. "In some ways, he's in the same situation."

"God." Stacy bowed her head a moment then sighed. "As someone who cares about him, I'm…"

"I know," Cuddy said softly, seeing the woman struggle with the knowledge. A part of Stacy still loved House and always would and, like Cuddy, she didn't want him to suffer any more.

The tall brunette sat up then and looked directly at Cuddy. Her voice was stronger when she spoke. "As his attorney, I need more information about his condition, short- and long-term prognosis. He'll hate it but the truth is, the more sympathetic he appears, the better the chances are I can get him a good deal."

"You're right. I hate it."

Cuddy looked to see House making his way back to the living area, a pair of long-neck beers loosely held between his fingers. He was scowling.

"You can hate it all you want but it doesn't make it any less true," Stacy said, her attention now on him. "If you have any hopes of staying out of prison, then your pride needs to take a backseat on this one."

"You think you can keep him out?" Cuddy asked, feeling a flutter of hope. If there was a chance…

"That would be ideal and it is my goal," Stacy answered but her eyes never left House, tracking him across the room. "But I need _my client_ to help me help him if I have any hopes of getting close to it."

Cuddy tempered her hopes at Stacy's response. She was glad to know Stacy was approaching his case with that goal in mind but it didn't sound as if she expected to actually reach it.

"That's lawyer speak for 'I'll do the best I can, but I can't make any promises'," House said as he held out the bottles to Cuddy. "Oh, and 'Tell me all the stuff that makes you look really pathetic. Judges and juries just eat that up'."

"House," Cuddy chided, catching his gaze after he sat. She didn't have to say anything more. She saw the defensiveness fall away when she handed him one of the bottles. She watched him twist the top off then look at Stacy.

"What do you need to know?"


	67. Chapter 67

This is a short one, but I think pivotal.

* * *

**Part 67**

"Amputation? He's actually considering it?"

Stacy's eyes were wide as saucers and her voice held nothing but disbelief. Cuddy understood the reaction. It was a natural one for anyone who knew House.

Having been freed by House to share any details that might help his case, Cuddy answered Stacy's question.

"Yes," she said softly then cast a quick glance toward the living area.

House and Rachel were at his piano. Rachel's little legs were swinging in time with the tune House was drawing out of the instrument. She was watching his fingers.

Cuddy loved what she saw. Looking back to Stacy, Cuddy watched her friend set her coffee mug down on the kitchen table.

"How did you get him to do that?"

"It wasn't me. He brought it up," Cuddy said. "What he went through with Wilson…"

Seeing understanding dawn on Stacy, Cuddy didn't offer any other explanation.

"It really is that serious."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Pain will always be a part of his life if he keeps it," Cuddy stated plainly. "All the non-invasive treatments have a chance of making it worse, and endanger the limb."

"Surgery?"

Cuddy shook her head. She and House had both agreed there was only one reason to take that route.

"If he goes under the knife, it will be for amputation," she told Stacy. "This study was his best hope of eradicating the tumor and regaining his previous mobility."

"Wow," Stacy breathed then propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin against her fingers. Cuddy saw tears forming in the woman's eyes. They sparked her own.

"He's made his choice," Cuddy said softly. "And he's finally freed me to help him do it."

Stacy shut her eyes. "He has always trusted you with that, Lisa. He never once blamed you."

Cuddy knew that but she also knew House had forgiven Stacy. So she told her.

"I don't know about that," Stacy said in reply.

"I do," Cuddy said. "He went to you for help. He put his trust in you."

"Last time he did that, I betrayed him," Stacy said, her eyes finally returning to Cuddy. There was pain in her dark-brown eyes.

"You saved his life and he knows it," Cuddy assured her.

"And resented me for it."

Cuddy couldn't argue with that. He'd resented it so much he'd driven Stacy from his life. But that was a long time ago.

"He's no longer that man," Cuddy said softly, adding, "He's not even the man he was two years ago."

Stacy nodded then let out a scoffing but amused laugh, "He's still a juvenile ass."

Cuddy smiled, recalling her interactions with him since he'd returned to her life. "Yes," she agreed, "But even that's different."

"Will you testify on his behalf?"

Cuddy was a bit surprised by the question, though she shouldn't have been considering everything she'd done for House so far. The answer wasn't a surprise to herself at all, nor to Stacy.

"Yes," Cuddy said softly.

Stacy's eyes took on a mischievous glint. "As his doctor or as the woman who's madly in love with him?"

"It's that obvious?" Cuddy asked even though she probably already knew the answer. She'd tried to hide it in Princeton but when he'd been on the brink of death, she hadn't even bothered to keep up any pretense of being angry at him.

Stacy smiled. "It's in your eyes, every time you look at him."

At Stacy's words, Cuddy's eyes invariably sought him out. Her heart skipped a beat when he looked up at that exact moment and locked gazes with her.

"Either or both," she finally answered Stacy's question. "Whatever will help him most."


	68. Chapter 68

**Part 68**

"Am I the only one who finds it weird that my ex-girlfriend is upstairs sleeping in my current girlfriend's bed, while I'm downstairs sleeping with my current girlfriend, in my bed, in her dining room?"

Cuddy snorted and looked over her shoulder at House. He was sitting up in bed while she sat on the side, applying lotion to her arms.

"What's weird is that you haven't suggested a threesome yet."

He snapped his fingers. "I knew I was forgetting something."

"Well, keep forgetting it," Cuddy smirked.

The last ten seconds aside, House had actually been on his best behavior. He'd even expressed concern about Stacy staying because of her husband. The history between House and Mark wasn't a good one, and he'd been worried that Mark might not take the situation well.

For Cuddy's part, she'd been the one to ask Stacy to stay. The lawyer had missed her evening return flight while they'd dinner together, and then Stacy and House went over more details of his legal case.

Initially, Stacy had deferred, saying she'd get a room at one of the airport hotels but Cuddy had nixed that. Driving through Baltimore at night in some areas of town was unwise, especially for a woman alone. She also suggested, strongly, that Stacy could get a better understanding of the medical aspects of House's situation by visiting the hospital, which would hopefully help her build his defense.

The latter had convinced Stacy, along with assurances from Cuddy that everything would be fine, even if a bit awkward. And things would be okay if House continued to behave but, sadly, Cuddy's hopes on that front were waning by the second.

"Does that mean no sex?"

Cuddy again cut him a look over her shoulder. "You can't be serious?"

"Why not?" He gave her the sad puppy eyes. "Little Greg needs love, too."

Cuddy knew he was being playful but, honestly.

"Well, Big Greg _and_ Little Greg will be sleeping on the couch, _alone_, if Big Greg doesn't shut up."

"Shutting up."

"Good," Cuddy said as she put the lotion away and crawled under the covers. He situated the pillows while she shut off the lamp then spooned up behind her when she settled on her side.

"You really surprised her," Cuddy said softly.

He kissed her shoulder then her ear.

"I'm not quite sure how considering amputation trumps the I'm-back-from-the-dead thing, but it apparently does."

"You know why," Cuddy said as she laid her hand atop his, which rested on her belly.

"Yeah." It was a soft sigh.

House went quiet for a while but Cuddy could tell he hadn't fallen asleep. He was thinking. She could practically feel the wheels turning in his mind, and that was keeping her from drifting off. For a while, she studied the odd geometric shapes of light cast on the ceilings and walls, courtesy of the street lamps in front of the building.

When it didn't seem like he was going to share what was on his mind, Cuddy finally ventured a question.

"What is it?"

He propped his chin on her shoulder, leaned his head against hers.

"Cryoablation."

"That's your choice?"

"It has the smallest risk to surrounding tissues," he said softly.

It wasn't a direct answer to her question, but a medical evaluation. He wanted to do a DDx while spooned with her in the dark. She smiled faintly even though the situation was serious.

"Bleeding is the major complication," she said, remembering Foreman's warning.

"It doesn't cauterize as effectively."

"Nerve damage risk?" she asked.

"High."

She sighed. "More pain."

House went quiet again. This time Cuddy waited him out and held her breath when he spoke.

"Transfemoral amputation."

That was the alternative, and the fact he mentioned it now and not first meant it might be at the top of the list instead of the bottom — especially since he hadn't mentioned any other procedures. Up until this moment, he'd stressed it as a fallback, not as the primary course of care.

"Would it have to be above your scar and the tumor position?" Cuddy asked, the doctor in her not nearly as concerned as the woman. The higher they took the harder the recovery, not to mention the overall psychological impact of it. He hadn't even talked about that part yet.

"Possibly." His answer was a whisper against her skin as he placed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "I talked to the surgeons the other day."

"You did?" He hadn't mentioned that.

"Further tissue damage is their primary concern."

That made sense. Cuddy was no expert in amputation procedures, but she knew that they needed the soft tissues to seal and pad the stump. The more they had of the tissue, the less of his leg they'd have to take.

Cuddy asked the hard question. "You're moving it to the top of the list?"

"Not yet," he said then added with a sigh, "Maybe."

He nuzzled her gently then asked her a question. It was also a difficult one.

"Would you still want to have sex with a one-legged man?"

Cuddy's heart broke at the insecurity she heard in his voice, that the question itself implied. She turned over to face him when she answered.

"I love you," she said softly, catching his gaze in the shadows. "I don't care if you have one leg or two, or none. I will always want you."

He just stared at her and she could see he was looking for even the slightest hint of hesitation on her part. He wasn't going to find it.

Cuddy touched his face gently then reached and drew the covers down until she exposed his leg. She looked down and braved, for the first time since she'd stitched him up in Scranton, directly touching him there.

He winced but she did not move her hand away, just lightened her caress. She felt the tougher tissue over his original scar and the raised spot where the tumor lay.

Catching his gaze, she whispered softly, "This is a part of you, but it is not you. You are more than this."

Her name was whispered then she was kissed, soft and slow. She'd told him earlier there would be no sex, but if he wanted it now, she wasn't going to deny him.

He did and she didn't.


	69. Chapter 69

**Part 69**

Cuddy noted the look of shock on Stacy's face when she saw House's leg. He had turned carefully, trying to keep it out of view, but the slowness of his movements had given Stacy the time needed to get a look.

"Oh, God. I didn't realize. The scarring…"

Confused, Cuddy looked at Stacy. She'd initially thought the woman was shocked by the still-fading bruises, but it sounded as though she'd never actually seen his scar.

Cuddy found that odd considering that House and Stacy hadn't immediately ended their relationship after the surgery. Plus they'd had an affair during Stacy's brief stint as general counsel for Princeton-Plainsboro.

"You didn't see it?" Cuddy heard herself saying.

Stacy shook her head. "He refused," she said, looking at Cuddy. "I thought he was punishing me."

"He may have been," Cuddy said because it was entirely possible considering House's state of mind at the time of their original breakup. "But," she added, "I was his doctor and he didn't let me see it for years.

Stacy looked even more surprised at Cuddy's revelation. "Did he have another doctor?"

"He did his own post-op … and self-medicated," Cuddy said, knowing that had been the start of his substance abuse and addiction.

"The Vicodin," Stacy said.

Cuddy nodded, glanced back to House. The techs were aligning him on the bed of the MRI scanner.

"I was shocked the first time I saw it," Cuddy confessed. "I hadn't realized… It gave me a new perspective on his pain."

"Yes, it does," Stacy replied.

Still somewhat confounded and unable to just let it go, even though she should, Cuddy asked, "Not even in Princeton, when you two were…?"

"He hid it," Stacy shrugged but smiled, as if she understood why Cuddy had asked.

"He does that," Cuddy said softly, making her realize how much he loved and trusted her to expose that part of himself that he so staunchly hid from everyone else. Even the only other woman he'd loved.

Last night, he had welcomed Cuddy's touch, invited it. More than once, he'd paused in their lovemaking to guide her hand back to the scar. She had caressed him as gently as she knew how and watched him close his eyes, as if trying to memorize the sensation. She knew that's what he'd been cataloging when he told her that her touch felt good. It had been an astounding admission from a man who knew nothing but pain from that part of his body.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy looked from Stacy to see the MRI tech had returned, just popping his head inside the door of the results booth. "Dr. House wants to talk to you before we start."

Not sure whether she should be curious or concerned that House would want to see her before something so routine, Cuddy quickly nodded to the tech and made her excuses to Stacy.

When Cuddy reached him, she knew why he'd asked for her. He was hurting, more than he had been before they arrived for the scan.

"I twisted wrong getting up on this damned thing," he told her. "I need something."

Cuddy touched his shoulder. "I'll be right back," she said then waved at the tech, held up her index finger, telling him to wait. He nodded and she slipped out and down to the nurse's station. On her orders, they prepped her a syringe of ketorolac.

Returning to House, she handed him an alcohol swab packet. He opened it while she maneuvered the hospital gown out of the way to gain access to his upper thigh. She swabbed the area then injected intramuscularly.

"You should feel that pretty quick," she said needlessly as she recapped the syringe. She took the empty packet from him, and dropped both items into the pocket of her white coat. While she was doing that, she heard him let out a sigh, telling her the medicine was doing its job. She smiled at him and patted his chest, "Just stay still. I'll look at it when we're done.

He nodded but caught her hand before she could move away. She met his gaze.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said then eased away.

In the booth, Stacy asked if everything was okay. Cuddy nodded then disposed of the syringe in the sharps container and the packet in the trash.

"Strained his leg when he was getting on the table. I gave him something to ease the pain," Cuddy said then took up a position beside the MRI tech.

Cuddy kept her eyes on the monitor and explained to Stacy what they were seeing when the images began to appear. When the tumor started showing, Cuddy heard Stacy inhale soft but quick.

As for Cuddy, she frowned. The tumor had definitely grown from the first scan they'd done at Princeton-Plainsboro. At the current rate, he'd be outside the study's bounds within a week — almost a week before it would officially begin.

"Dammit," she muttered, leaned over the tech's shoulder for a closer look.

"Is it worse?" Stacy added.

"He's right about the growth," Cuddy replied and started looking for the infiltrate. It was there but she couldn't tell if it had spread as well. They needed to have an oncologist review with the radiologist.

"Did you doubt it?" Stacy almost sounded amused, which Cuddy could understand.

"If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that he's almost always _not wrong_," Cuddy replied.

Not able to make out much more on the scan, Cuddy straightened and looked at Stacy. "I'll rush the review of the results," she told Stacy then delivered the news that she and House had expected out of the day's exams and tests.

"Time's running out."


	70. Chapter 70

**Part 70**

"You're sure?"

A concerned Cuddy asked the question and watched House nod. She sighed, not sure if he was really saying what he wanted. His expression was at odds with the wishes he'd just expressed.

"House," Cuddy said softly. "She's your mother."

"I know she's my mother," he snapped then tried to get up from the couch. His leg failed him and he ended up tossing his cane away. Frustration roiled off him like a hurricane.

After the news and events of the day, Cuddy had expected some sort of outburst from him, which is why she'd sent Rachel to Janice's tonight. Her daughter didn't need to witness this, and House didn't need an audience. He needed to be free to express himself and not worry about scaring Rachel — and he would. Cuddy could take it. She'd done this with him for years, understood the stress he was under, and this was a catharsis he needed in light of what was coming.

"I'm not trying to patronize you," Cuddy said as she rose and retrieved his cane. "She just wants to be here for you."

He looked up at Cuddy when she handed the cane back to him. The pain he was exuding was one she hadn't seen in a long time, and it ran the deepest.

"Where was she when I was made to sit in a tub of cold ice for forgetting to bring the newspaper in?" he asked and he really wanted an answer. It wasn't one Cuddy could give him and it broke her heart that she couldn't.

"I don't know," Cuddy whispered. She wanted to reach out and touch him but knew he wasn't ready for physical contact yet. "But she does love you."

He took the cane from her fingers, gently, and Cuddy sensed and saw some of his anger dissipate.

"I know." It was said gently. "But I don't want her here for this."

"If she's like my mother, she'll come anyway," Cuddy commented dryly and watched a corner of his mouth quirk up the tiniest bit. She hoped he'd take the bait. He rarely passed up the opportunity to say something about Cuddy's mother.

But he did this time, choosing instead to explain why he didn't want his mother present.

"I don't need 'mothering'," he said softly, his gaze pleading for her to understand. "I need you."

Cuddy did understand, in some ways, but not in others. Her mother had all the nurturing instinct of a shark, whereas Blythe House, whatever her faults, had seemed exactly the "motherly" type. It was the difference between a vodka martini and an apple pie.

Taking a seat on the coffee table in front of him, Cuddy reached and touched his cheek, wanting to reassure him. "I'm here, House, and I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, "I'll be beside you the whole way."

Her words seemed to ease him some. But not completely.

"I'm not doing this to hurt her," he said and there was again that silent optical plea for understanding.

"I know," Cuddy said softly.

House had and could hurt the people he loved. Cuddy knew as well as anyone how easily he could cut to the quick with just the right words or action. But that's not what he was trying to do to his mother. He just wanted control of his space and who was in it, because it was one thing he could control.

The tumor. The legal stuff. Those were all out of his control. He could only make informed decisions and then live with the outcome, whatever it might be, foreseen or unforeseen.

"I know," she repeated and watched him bow his head.

Tears threatening, Cuddy moved her hand to stroke his hair. He whispered her name in response and she ached at hearing the exhaustion in it. He needed to relax and rest. He needed to not hurt.

In thirty-six hours, they were going to try to ease the latter. She had scheduled the cryoablation procedure for him. Neither of them was sure it would be effective but he wanted to try and then follow up with radiation therapy for the infiltration. The oncologists were just as uncertain but agreed that it was probably his best option for keeping the leg. They concurred with the surgical team that a slow approach would be best for monitoring soft tissue response and profusion, allowing the surgeons to step in quickly should amputation be necessary.

With that and other things in mind, Cuddy had some ideas about helping him relax. She wasn't sure of the first one, but she suggested it anyway since it would entail his getting out of the house for more than a trip to the hospital.

"Would you like to go out for dinner?"

He raised his head and met her gaze. He looked … relieved.

"Yeah. I'd like that."


	71. Chapter 71

**Part 71 **

Dinner by candlelight on the Chesapeake.

The cold weather meant eating indoors instead of on the restaurant's patio, but the establishment had a subdued, classy atmosphere geared toward diners being able to converse. So Cuddy and House did, but in their way, which she doubted anyone else would ever understand … except Wilson.

They drank a toast to their friend at the start of the meal and shared a few memories, but moved on before sadness could overtake the mood.

Before they'd left her home, House had surprised her by requesting more appropriate attire, saying, "I'm liable to be mistaken for a gimpy bum if I walk in next to you." He'd gestured to his wrinkled button-down, faded jeans, and his wonderfully scruffy beard.

Cuddy had told him he wore the look well, but had conceded and taken him to the facility where Wilson had stored his things. House had been overwhelmed at seeing all of it, but he hadn't wasted any time finding what he wanted, which spoke of his eagerness to expand his world beyond her home and the hospital. She didn't blame him.

He rounded up a nice jacket and tie, then a darker pair of jeans. The sneakers were a given. He wouldn't give those up, but he'd traded the cane he'd been using for one with a glossy black shaft and flashy silver handle. And then he'd changed right there, with Cuddy's help, making her infinitely thankful the facility was climate controlled because the clothing still hadn't taken on the smell of stored things.

Looking across the table that bore their empty plates, Cuddy was happy to see that he was happy. It was a rare thing for him and she knew it would be elusive in the near future.

All evening, she'd specifically avoided any topics of conversation that might upset the balance and instead engaged him in a trip down memory lane, the fun moments of their shared lives. The really good stuff came up after the tables around them cleared out.

"I still can't believe you thought I'd be okay with a massage from a gay, male prostitute," Cuddy said, smiling at the memory.

"Hey, I'm a believer in equality … and equal opportunity employment," he countered. Cuddy shook her head.

"You just wanted to see if you could get away with it," she accused, "Half the stuff you did was to see how far I'd let you go."

He didn't deny it.

"Turns out it was pretty far," he said cockily then tipped his glass to her in salute when he added, "But you, Cuddy, are a master retaliator."

"Hardly," Cuddy demurred because it was rare that she'd actually gotten one over on him.

"Oh, give yourself some credit," he said. "I recall a particularly malodorous incident with hydrogen sulfide in my office. It was admittedly juvenile, but downright daring for a someone in three-inch heels. I was impressed."

"You were not," she said skeptically.

"Actually, I was," he said. "But not nearly as impressed as I was when you hiked up your skirt and asked me to give you a shot. Wow. Boy. Yeah."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Cuddy watched his expression become one of apprehension. She knew he feared he'd tread into sensitive territory.

Once upon a time that would have been the case. The failure of in-vitro, the miscarriage, the failed adoption of Joy… It had been an emotionally disappointing and devastating period of Cuddy's life, and he had said some pretty nasty things during it. But he'd also done something extraordinary as well. He'd kept her confidence about the IVF. Time had healed the wounds of the failures. Adopting and raising Rachel had healed others. And an unexpected kiss on the night she'd lost Joy had healed the wounds he'd inflicted and made her realize how much she could love him.

"It's okay," Cuddy said softly, wanting him to understand. But he shook his head.

"No. It's not." He set down his glass and picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. He looked down as he did.

"House…"

He shook he head and looked everywhere but her. When he stopped searching, she saw his gaze had fixed on he piano on the small stage about five tables down. There'd been a trio of musicians there earlier, but they'd closed out their set about the time the majority of diners had departed.

Cuddy watched as he stood and grabbed his cane. He limped slowly over to the instrument and Cuddy was besieged by a sense of deja vu.

She felt like she had the other day when he'd pushed himself too hard trying to reach the lacrosse practice. He was a man on a mission, again. She didn't know the mission was but she was thankful the journey wouldn't be as far.

Cuddy followed him and watched him settle onto the bench. He left a space for her beside him and she accepted the unspoken invitation.

Once she was seated, he began to play and she listened. He started out with a simple set of chords that picked up pace and gradually evolved into a robust, joyful composition reminiscent of the Jewish folk music her father used to listen to. And then, it dropped off into a plaintive set of notes to a tune that she recognized and would always associate with him.

When the instrument stilled, she looked over at him, said softly, "The philosopher Jagger?"

A corner of his mouth turned up then he looked at her, apologetic and vulnerable, and said two words.

"Cuddy's Serenade."


	72. Chapter 72

**Cold shower warning...**

* * *

**Part 72**

House had written it for her the night of Rachel's Simchat Bat.

Cuddy had repeatedly invited him to attend, all the while hoping he wouldn't, even enlisting Wilson to keep him away. Then she'd directly uninvited him only to end up wanting him there and been unable to find the courage to tell him. She'd felt conflicted the entire time, and then guilty, and then regretful that she'd let fear overrule the wishes of her heart.

Meanwhile, he'd crafted a piano composition that was a beautiful blending of _them_. And tonight, five years later, he'd played it for her in an apology.

Of the many mistakes in her life, Cuddy believed her decision regarding that night was amongst her biggest, perhaps second only to ending their relationship at the first sign of trouble. She felt ashamed and she confessed it once they were skin-to-skin. He was leaned back against the pillows while she sat astride him.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy whispered as she took his face in her hands. "I should have—"

"I love you."

It was said softly but with such conviction and immediately quieted Cuddy.

"We both have regrets," he breathed, eyes holding hers while his fingers tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "But they have no place here."

_The most damaged people are the wisest. _

Cuddy had heard that somewhere and she'd never known anyone else to fit it better than Greg House.

He was as screwed up as they came. He'd endured more pain and suffering than anyone else she'd ever known — some of it of his own making, most of it caused by those around him, who should have loved him most. But out of the experiences had come a wisdom that could not be dismissed. It often served as a bright mirror that revealed the best and worst in the people who looked.

Right now, it was a focusing mechanism, drawing her attention back to the present, to him, and away from the past and the guilt that came with it. There was no room for regrets or shame or apologies in the face of his declaration of love. There was just love. It's what they both wanted and what they both had to give. It's what they both needed. It's what they'd always needed and apparently had never found fully in another.

"Thank you," she said softly and watched him smile.

"You're welcome."

Again, so damned sincere. He had always surprised her with that, but she admitted it wasn't such a shock anymore. Since their reunion, she'd seen it a lot and she liked it. She loved him.

"Kiss me," she whispered and felt his hand delve into her hair and pull her to him. His lips touched hers softly, brushed across her mouth then came back to capture her bottom lip, the top, then press gently against both.

Cuddy melded into the sensual sweetness, pressing her body closer when he trailed kisses across her cheek then nuzzled into the curve of her neck. She bowed her head beside his and welcomed the feel of his arms sliding around her.

"Tell me what you want tonight," she breathed near his ear.

His answer surprised her. "To watch you."

She drew back, expecting to find his expression one of self-satisfied lechery. It was anything but. He _really _wanted to watch her…

The thought made her flush with both arousal and something akin to shyness. He noticed, of course.

"You're blushing. Why?" he said softly, just the barest hint of a smile distinguishable.

She shook her head. "It's not exactly something I get asked every day," she said but he saw it for the dodge it was.

"You've never been asked," he surmised with only the slightest inflection indicating he might not be completely sure.

She smiled at him. "I've been asked."

"But you've never done it," he said, more sure of his answer.

"To help things along, but never…"

Tender, vigorous or anywhere in between, Cuddy liked sex, but she wasn't generally an exhibitionist. The few men who'd asked had turned her off immediately. There'd been something in the way they looked at her that had made her instantly back away. And Lucas … well, he'd never brought it up.

But House…

Cuddy supposed she should have expected it from him. He was an intense, highly sexualized personality, and very much a man. He had always been that, despite the tomfoolery and general assness. He'd was also sexy as hell, and the way he was looking at her right now made her feel sexy beyond belief.

"He really wasn't getting it done," he commented, making her smile.

"You're an ass."

"Already established," he replied then asked with a devastating earnestness, "Will you show me what you do when you're alone in the dark?"

"Yes," she said, without any further thought and felt every part of her flutter with the knowledge. She was well beyond keeping track of "firsts" but he would be the first in _this_.

The intensity of his gaze multiplied with her answer, making her shiver. She eased back slowly, her hands sliding along his neck and down over his chest. She felt him breathing. Accelerated but not labored.

Carefully, she moved from astride him to sit between his legs, which he'd parted in anticipation. Her feet fell to either side of his hips. His thigh out of harm's way, she reclined slowly back on the mattress. She trembled the entire way, seeing his gaze track her progress, moving from her face down to her sex, which was now on full display for him.

Her entire body quaked and she caught her breath when he settled broad hands on her feet. His hands were hot as he slid them up to her knees and nudged them wider.

"Show me," he told her, his voice deeper with his desire.

She did, her hands first touching her breasts, stroking them, kneading them, circling her nipples. His grip tightened on her knees in response.

"God, you're beautiful," he rasped and Cuddy felt emboldened by the compliment.

She moved her hands down over her stomach, following the curves of her form, slowly and lightly. She quivered but unsure if it was from her touch or the fact he was watching.

Cuddy touched her breasts again and heard him let out a heavy breath. It held a word.

"Sexy."

When she finally moved her left hand down to cup her sex, it was her name that rushed from his lips. His thumbs brushed back and forth against the inner side of her knees, setting a rhythm that she instinctively matched.

Her hips rolled in time with the intimate caress of her fingers, and she lost herself in it. Eyes closed, she pictured his rapt expression and the burning intensity of his gaze. She could practically feel the latter, the heat from his hands nothing in comparison — until he slipped his hand down to join hers, fingers filling her and finding that place.

"House," she gasped and arched her back, her blood running hot through her veins.

He coaxed her to a more fervent pace, sending her arousal skyrocketingwith the light caress of his fingertips inside her.

"Oh, God," she gasped at the cusp and reached out her other hand to him. He caught it and held tight, fingers laced.

"Show me, Cuddy," he pleaded.

That was all it took to send her into bliss.


	73. Chapter 73

**Part 73**

House was playing the piano, quietly, but not well.

It sounded _wrong_, nothing like the beautiful music Cuddy had heard him play in the past, just this evening, in fact.

Slowly pushing up on one arm, Cuddy looked past the couch to see House bowed over the keys. His face was set in a scowl. He looked vexed.

Cuddy wasn't sure why he was disheartened at the moment, or why he was so focused on the piano, but knew there was only more frustration in his foreseeable future. No matter happened in the next couple of days, he was facing recovery time — physical therapy, if she could get him to do it — and then the legal crap. He might have himself to blame for a large part of the latter, but the former … he hadn't asked for any of it.

Rising quietly, Cuddy picked up his shirt from the floor and put it on. She buttoned it blindly as she walked over to him.

"Hey," she said softly as she neared.

He moved his hands away from the keys at her greeting. "Sorry I woke you," he said without looking at her. He was still staring holes in the black and ivory keys.

"It's okay," she replied then realized, as she grew closer still, that he was sitting to one side of the bench, his right leg away from the pedals.

What Cuddy knew about musical instruments, she could put in a thimble, but she'd seen him play enough times to know that he generally used both feet to play those. And now he was trying to play with just his left. He was preparing himself for the possibility…

_House._

Cuddy eased down onto the bench next to him, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly helpless. More pain, further loss of mobility, loss of limb… any or all of them could rob him of his music, at least for a time. And she hadn't thought of it until just now. But he'd been thinking about it.

"I always regretted not learning to play an instrument," she found herself confessing for some reason. Perhaps it was to distract herself from the heartache she felt and the fearful sadness she sensed in him.

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

Cuddy looked over at him. He was still staring at the keys. "Have you met my mother?"

He looked at her then, a tiny glint of amusement in his gaze. "Julia got all the lessons."

"And I was busy trying to do everything else better than everyone else," Cuddy admitted.

Those ice-blue eyes were all-knowing. "And even then it wasn't good enough for you."

She couldn't deny it. "Next Corner Syndrome?"

"Might be worth a paper." It was a gentle tease.

He looked back to the keys again.

"I may have to learn again," he said, clearly disquieted.

Offering him some hope, she said softly, "But not all of it."

That seemed to make him feel a bit better. He lifted his hands and placed them on the keys. He played a little tune without use of the pedals. It was nice, but she could hear the difference from what he'd played earlier. The depth of sound and resonance were missing. She wondered if there was a modification that could be made to accommodate him, if it came to that, but didn't mention it to him. He probably already knew and she didn't want to contribute to an already sensitive subject.

"No, not all of it." It was said as his fingers moved away from the keys.

His attention returning to her, Cuddy saw him smile. Then he reached for her left hand. She let him take hold and guide it to the keyboard. He placed her index on a key. She had no idea which one, but let him direct her movements and soon had her playing a very basic version of an instantly recognizable ditty.

_Chopsticks._

He joined in with her, playing the more complex keys with his right hand while putting his arm around her and aligning his fingers with her. He helped her pick up the tempo then led her into another recognizable tune.

_When the Saints Go Marching In._

Cuddy smiled. She was playing the piano, albeit with a lot of help. Stealing a quick glance at House, she saw him smiling. Then he was changing the tune again, to another one she knew.

_Heart and Soul._

Julia had played them all three when she'd been learning. Cuddy had found it annoying to her to trying to study. But this, despite Cuddy's occasional ineptitude, was anything but annoying. She loved it.

And God, help her, she loved him more.

When he finally pulled their hands away from the keys, Cuddy looked up at him only to find him leaning toward her. She moved to meet him, her eyes falling shut.

The kiss was sweet. It stirred her heart.


	74. Chapter 74

Sorry for the delay in posting. Had a busy few days, but don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the story :)

* * *

**Part 74**

They hadn't slept much last night.

Lovemaking had followed in the wake of the impromptu piano lesson. It had been slow, tender, and sweet, driven by the knowledge of what was on the too-close horizon. They'd finally fallen asleep somewhere around three.

After putting in a half-day at work, Cuddy had picked Rachel up early from school so they could spend the rest of the day with House.

Cuddy had asked him last night if he was up to Rachel's company, knowing he was tired and still wrestling with fears and a whopping amount of frustration. With the cryoblation procedure now less than twenty-four hours away, she knew his struggle wasn't likely to ease. She'd thought he'd say no, completely understanding why he would, but he'd actually told Cuddy it was okay.

So they were together, the three of them, at the science center.

The destination had been House's idea, and it was actually one of the places Cuddy had yet to take Rachel since moving to the city. Cuddy had wondered at his choice, especially since it was bustling with kids, harried parents and tolerant teachers. But then she'd watched him intently study some of the exhibits that showcased physics.

Cuddy had observed his brain latch onto the puzzles and work them out. Whenever he'd reached a satisfactory conclusion, she'd watched his face take on the same expression he'd always gotten when he'd just solved a medical mystery.

At one point, after nearly being run down a few times by oblivious youngsters, he'd stepped outside. Cuddy had wanted to go with him to make sure he was all right, but she hadn't wanted to leave Rachel unattended. She'd wished some of the other parents had made similar efforts instead of letting their children run wild.

When House had come back inside, he'd sat to give his leg a rest and she'd joined him. They'd both watched Rachel explore the hands-on learning exhibits and House had worn a delighted smile of mischief whenever Rachel had showed up another kid in some of the games. It made Cuddy curious as to what exactly was behind that look. But she didn't ask.

Currently, they were in the theater of the planetarium, watching stars and planets fly by on the domed ceiling above them. Rachel was looking up in awe and point at things here and there.

Looking at House, Cuddy saw him watching, too, but his expression was more one of contemplation. Wilson had noted in his journal that he'd seen House stargaze a lot during their road trip. She wondered if he was thinking of Wilson now, or of her.

As she watched him, he turned his head and looked at her. His hand touched hers and she laced her fingers with his. He gave them a squeeze then went back to watching the projection of the cosmos.

Later, after tucking Rachel in, Cuddy found him sitting in a chair on the patio looking up at the real thing. He was snuggled down into his coat and had a tumbler of scotch in one hand while the other tapped his cane rhythmically against the ground. She marveled that he'd managed the steps with the drink and walking stick.

_Stubborn and tougher than anyone realizes._

Pulling her sweater tight with one hand, Cuddy joined him outside. Her breath was visible on the air when she stopped beside him. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I've drawn you a bath," she said softly.

His gaze moved from the sky to her. Something about the way he was looking at her had her bowing to kiss him. Just a simple one, but it made him smile.

"Come on before the water gets cold," she told him as she took the tumbler from his hand then headed toward the steps. He followed and she held the door for him.

Once in the kitchen, he shrugged out of his coat and clothes. Cuddy helped him with the things he couldn't quite manage, then assisted him in getting into the collapsible tub.

Before she could walk away, his hand caught hers.

"The kid asleep?"

She couldn't say for sure. "Probably."

"Then get in," he said softly.

His eyes told her he wanted it more than his voice expressed. She wasn't opposed, but she eyed the tub. There wasn't a whole lot of space for two people.

"There's room," he said.

She smiled at him and shed her clothes. With his help, she eased down into the water with him, leaning back against his chest. He just wrapped his arms around her and held her. He leaned his head against hers and sighed. She didn't have to see him to know that his eyes were closed.

Resting her arms atop his, Cuddy shut her eyes, too, and just enjoyed the closeness. It was peaceful despite the uncertainties waiting them.

"I'm afraid, Cuddy."

The words were spoken so softly but she heard the fear he confessed to.

"Me, too," she replied, wanting him to know he wasn't alone. Because he definitely wasn't.

Cuddy was afraid of the procedure working and him being summoned back to New Jersey. She was afraid of the procedure not working and him losing his leg. Ultimately, whatever happened, there would be very real physical and psychological fallout, and there was no way to know to what depth and degree. That's what frightened Cuddy most. That and something wildly selfish.

"I need you to promise me something," she found herself saying.

He nuzzled her, his cheek rubbing against her hair. "What?"

"No matter happens," she whispered, "don't push me away."

"I promise." Just like that. A promise. No evasion.

Cuddy didn't know if she should be worried or elated.

"House—" she began but he cut her off.

"I promise," he whispered and hugged her tight. "No matter happens."


	75. Chapter 75

**Part 75**

With gentle hands, Cuddy helped House dress for bed. Her fingers helped ease his briefs up and over his thigh. When he took over, she found herself looking at the mangled, bruised, malformed part of him.

_So much pain._

Unable to help herself, Cuddy touched him gently. He didn't stop her. He didn't make a sound, but she felt him tremble. She looked up at him, remembering the first time she'd done so. Where he'd looked uneasy then, he looked at ease now.

_So much trust. _

Leaning in, Cuddy brushed a light kiss to the deepest part and heard his breath catch. That was not new, and neither was her emotional reaction to his. Every part of her fluttered with love.

Rising, Cuddy pressed her hand to his chest and caught his gaze. His eyes revealed a vulnerability that took her breath away. She saw a painful awareness of his situation, beyond that of an average patient. She knew he saw the same in her because she couldn't hide what she knew either. Not from him. Never from him.

_He sees me. And he's letting me see him._

Cuddy moved her hand from his chest, up to cradle his jaw. At her touch, there was that so-slow blink. It did things to her heart that would set off alarms on an EKG.

"I love you," she told him, her voice thready with the emotion as she brought her other hand up to touch his cheek. Tears welled and she cradled him gently, her thumbs brushing across the whiskers on his cheek. "I love you."

His arms came around her and he drew her into an embrace. She wrapped hers around his shoulders when he buried his face in her neck.

"I was lost without you," he confessed.

Wilson had written as much in his journals.

"Me, too," she breathed, her voice trembling with the truth of it, tears falling.

He hugged her impossibly closer. "I need you tomorrow."

"I'll be with you," she promised.

"Will you be able to…" he began but couldn't finish.

Cuddy felt a shudder go through him. She drew back and caught his gaze.

"You haven't changed your mind?" she asked, needing to know.

He shook his head. "No."

Her heart hurting for him, tears slipping from her eyes, Cuddy peered up at him. "Yes. If it comes to that, I'll see it done. I'll fight for you," she whispered, certain of one thing in all this. She could carry out his wishes, fighting for his leg or making the decision to have the surgeons take it.

He hugged her again, kissed her cheek then the rim of her ear, then her temple and brow. It was against her mouth that he whispered his gratitude.

"Thank you. For all of it."


	76. Chapter 76

**Part 76**

Little fingers touched Cuddy's cheek in the night and woke her. She opened her eyes to see Rachel standing by the bed, a stuffed bunny tucked under her arm.

"What is it?" Cuddy whispered, hoping not to wake House, who was spooned behind her. "Bad dream?"

Rachel nodded. "I wanna sleep with you."

Cuddy was about to tell her that wasn't a good idea when her daughter dropped the bunny and promptly crawled into the bed.

"Sweetheart…" she began but silenced when House's hand moved from her stomach to help Rachel sidle up to Cuddy.

"Bilge rat," he grumbled them resettled with a sleep-heavy sigh, his hand finding its place again before he went back off to sleep.

The moment had left Cuddy overwhelmed and she'd cried softly in the dark, holding her daughter while House held her.

The power and beauty of that moment ferried Cuddy through their drive to the hospital.

House was solemn and looked out the window the entire time while Rachel dozed in her carseat, the white bunny clutched in her arms once more. Cuddy swallowed her fears the entire way and concentrated on navigating the early dawn traffic.

Stacy Warner was waiting when they arrived. She had updated medical proxy paperwork for Maryland. The state's laws differed somewhat to New Jersey's and House had asked Stacy to make sure it was ironclad so that no one could interfere with Cuddy's decisions on his behalf.

After they signed the papers, Stacy made sure they were included in House's file then took Rachel from Cuddy's arms.

They checked House in then Cuddy kissed her sleepy daughter on the cheek and told her she'd see her later. When she turned to join House, Rachel called for him.

"House."

Cuddy watched him turn. "It'll be okay, kid," he told her.

Rachel held her arms out to him in response. He glanced at Cuddy, looked down a moment then sighed and limped his way back over to her.

Cuddy didn't miss the glassiness of Stacy's gaze as she watched him close the distance. When he reached them, Rachel took his face in her hands and kissed his face.

"Love you, House."

Cuddy would have given anything to have seen his expression in that moment. Rachel had never said those words to him before. But Stacy's reaction — looking away abruptly, shutting her eyes, and swallowing hard — told Cuddy enough. So did the gentle kiss he pressed to Rachel's cheek. The glassiness of his gaze when he returned to her told her the rest she needed to know.

He caught Cuddy's hand when he reached her side and together they headed down the hallway toward the pre-op area.

"You okay?" Cuddy asked with a glance at him.

He looked like a man headed to the gallows, but a resolute one.

He spared Cuddy a quick glance before she badged them through the double doors labeled "Surgery."

"Yeah," he said softly but tightened his hold on her hand.

Cuddy offered him an understanding smile.

"I'm here."

He nodded, then they walked together down the chilly hall.


	77. Chapter 77

**Part 77**

"Do you want me to do it?"

Cuddy asked the question when House looked warily at the nurse who'd brought in the kit to shave his thigh. He looked at her, just a bit amused, and nodded his head.

Sending the nurse out, Cuddy used the basin of warm water, shaving cream, and disposable razor to clear away the light-brown hairs, taking extra special care around the most painful and misshapen areas. It wasn't technically necessary for the cryoablation, but it was best it be done. Just in case…

When she was done, Cuddy used a warm, damp cloth to clean him up and helped him settle back onto the bed. It's where he would remain until they came to get him for the procedure. Another nurse came in and reviewed his chart for current medications, allergies and such. He was preoccupied enough to not snap at her when she asked him to repeat several things.

While he talked to the nurse, Cuddy put in an IV line and hooked him up to a saline drip, a standard protocol prior to any procedure. They would use it to deliver the general anesthetic. Just as she was taping the tubing into place on the back of his hand, someone called her from the door. She looked over to see the charge nurse.

"There's someone here to see you."

Cuddy frowned. If the "someone" was one of House's doctors, they would have come in, so she had no idea who it might be. She shot House a look. He didn't appear to have any guesses. "Go see," he said.

Gently placing his hand on the bed, Cuddy rose and adjusted the drip. She touched his shoulder then. "Be right back," she told him and waited for his nod before moving around the bed. She stripped off her gloves and tossed them into the trash when she passed the can by the door.

The charge nurse spoke to her as they walked, "They wanted to come back, but with your instructions…"

"They?" Cuddy asked. Now she was really confused. _They?_

The nurse nodded. "A pair of doctors and an older woman."

As she walked, Cuddy felt a surge of dread, asked, "The older woman. Was she blond, overbearing and condescending?"

The nurse laughed. "No."

"Thank God," Cuddy muttered. Last thing she needed was her mother showing up. _I can handle anyone else_, she thought as she stepped through the doors to the surgical waiting area. Her dread and confusion completely fell away when her eyes landed on the visitors.

Blythe House. Remi Hadley. Robert Chase.

"Lisa," Blythe House said, as she stepped up to Cuddy first.

Cuddy let House's mother take her hands. There was a tremor in the older woman's grip. Cuddy tried to give her a reassuring smile, answered the unasked question in the woman's eyes.

"We're getting him ready."

Cuddy looked to Chase and Thirteen. Chase spoke before she could say anything. "Don't worry, I'm just staying until the procedure's done."

Cuddy nodded to him. He'd been on House's team longest, and understood that the last thing House wanted was a lot of attention.

Thirteen, though, Cuddy had a feeling House might not mind her presence. There was an unspoken understanding between them. Cuddy had noticed it during their brief interactions in Princeton.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly, not knowing if House would ever be able to express the sentiment to them.

They both nodded then went to join Stacy in the chairs. Rachel, she noted, had fallen back to sleep, her head laying in Stacy's lap. Cuddy gave Stacy a smile then turned back to Blythe.

"Will he see me?"

"I don't know," Cuddy said with a sympathetic smile. She honestly didn't know. He had expressed that he didn't want his mother here and Cuddy had warned him that she might show up anyway. _A mother's love…_

"Will you ask him?"

The plea tugged at Cuddy's heart. She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but she understood Blythe's desire to see her child — even if he was a grown man. The trouble was, House had always kept his mother at a distance when it came to his health. He hadn't wanted her there with the infarction and not even when he'd been shot.

Torn about what to do, Cuddy looked to Stacy. She shrugged. "You can try," she said simply.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy turned her attention back to Blythe, who was still holding her hands. The shakiness of her grip had increased substantially in the last few seconds. The woman looked on the verge of tears, but was somehow holding it together.

Cuddy nodded tentatively, not sure at all House would be receptive but fairly positive a refusal would break Blythe's heart.

"I'll let him know you're here," she said then cautioned, "But I can't promise anything. I wish I could…"

"I know my son, Lisa," Blythe said, her voice soft but steely. A Marine Corps wife. "He'll either see me or not. I'll be here either way."

Cuddy held her gaze, nodded again.

"Okay."


	78. Chapter 78

**Part 78**

"Your face tells me everything I need to know."

Those were the first words House spoke the second Cuddy returned to the pre-op room. She sighed and fought the urge to tuck her hands into the pocket of her white coat. His eyes noted her struggle then turned up to the ceiling as he laid his head back.

"I didn't want her here," he said, frustration making its first appearance of the day.

"I know," Cuddy said in commiseration. She'd feel the same way about her mother showing up against her wishes. Cuddy was just glad it hadn't been her mother, and she told him that.

"The nurse wouldn't have been able stop her from coming back, or killing me right here," he said. "She'd have a sacrificial dagger or weaponized menorah in her purse. At the very least a nail file. Any of them would do the job. I doubt I could outrun her even with her artificial hip."

Cuddy thought that wasn't an outlandish scenario, which is why she'd so far avoided letting her mother find out that House was alive.

Easing up to the side of the bed, Cuddy ran her fingers over the back of his hand, the one without the IV.

"She doesn't expect anything," she told him softly, silently hoping he would give his mother at least a moment or two.

House looked at her, those blue eyes of his pinning her. "And yet you're already feeling guilty because you're afraid I won't meet those non-existent expectations."

Cuddy sighed. "What do you expect me to feel, House? I'm a mother. If Rachel—"

The feel of House's hand easing around hers silenced her as effectively as his words. "I'll see her. But just a few minutes," he looked away a minute then back to Cuddy, his gaze weary, "I just can't…"

"You don't have to do this. Definitely not for me," Cuddy said when his voice trailed off, her guilt lessening at seeing his emerge. "Guilt is what I do. It hasn't killed me yet."

He smiled a bit. "I'm not willing to take any chances."

Returning the expression, Cuddy squeezed his fingers with hers, looked down as she rubbed her thumb across his. "You're sure?"

"No," he confessed, "But I'm not a very good son."

"I think she might disagree," Cuddy said. A mother's love forgave a lot of things and understood a lot more.

"I don't deserve that consideration," House said as if it were an indisputable fact. "My father saw to that."

"Well, thank God, that son of a bitch is six feet under, because you damned well deserved better from him," Cuddy snapped, making House look at her in something akin to shock. She knew why. She was the one who'd drugged him and made Wilson to take him to the funeral. If she'd fully understood the abuse he'd endured at the man's hands, she wouldn't have done it.

With a sigh, Cuddy brought her other hand up and drew her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry," she said softly and continued her caress when she felt him relax some. "You have the right of refusal. I ignored that once. I won't again."

Cuddy watched his gaze gentle, the frown slip away. His voice was infinitely soft when he spoke.

"Bring her."


	79. Chapter 79

**Part 79**

Cuddy returned to House's bedside after taking Blythe House to the waiting area.

Although her overall manner had been reserved, the woman had been clearly overjoyed that House had seen her. Somehow she'd managed to restrain that joy into something her son could tolerate. Even still, he'd been markedly uncomfortable. Despite loving his mother, he had a clear threshold for interaction with her.

And Blythe knew it. She hadn't overstayed her welcome. When she'd sensed he was nearing that point, she'd turned to Cuddy and asked her to walk her back to the waiting room.

Cuddy had done so, exchanging a glance with House before departing. He'd looked so relieved. Blythe had looked relieved, too, and thanked Cuddy once they reached the waiting area.

"Watch over him," Blythe had said then turned and took a seat away from the others, fingers trembling as she opened her purse and pulled out a handkerchief.

Cuddy didn't tell House about that part when she re-entered the room. She just walked over and kissed him, ignoring the nurse adjusting the IV drip.

"You're a better man than you give yourself credit for," she told him. "And better than others credit you."

When he started to protest, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Shut up, House, and accept the compliment."

The nurse snickered and he cut her a look while Cuddy moved her hand away.

Any amusement the moment might have elicited died when the door opened to admit the anesthesiologist and lead surgeons. When they started to review the procedures with him, he finally lost his hold on his tongue.

"I know the medicine, you idiots," he snapped. "Doctor, remember? Let's just get the show on the road."

The doctors didn't rise to the bait, telling Cuddy they'd gotten a taste of this side of his personality. They just sighed and looked to Cuddy. She directed their attention back to House. "He's your patient. I'm here as his personal physician and medical proxy."

They looked a little surprised at the latter.

"You have power of medical attorney?" the oncologist asked.

"She does," House answered the question for her. "While I'm out, her word is law. Literally."

The orthopedic surgeon spoke up then. "It's a little unusual for a primary caregiver to—"

"Usual is boring," House cut him off. "Now, can we go do this thing? Pretty please? The suspense is killing me: _Does he keep the leg or lose it?_" he quipped then looked over at Cuddy. "I mean, normally, I like cliffhangers but since _I'm_ the one doing the cliff hanging, I'd rather the action move along."

Cuddy nodded her understanding. Despite his glib tone, she saw the very real emotions driving the words. He was anxious and tired of waiting. He wanted it done, whatever "it" would be. He was letting her know that in no uncertain terms and she let the doctors know it, feeling the power he'd given her lock arms with her love for him.

"Okay," she said then reached down and raised the railing on the side of the bed. She then looked at the doctors.

"It's time to do this."


	80. Chapter 80

**Part 80**

From the surgical gallery, Cuddy watched the doctors begin their work. The cryoablation needles had been inserted into the tumor and they were doing final checks on the freezing unit before starting.

Arms folded tightly across her chest, Cuddy looked at House's face. His eyes were taped shut, but not so many minutes ago, he had been looking at her. She'd seen his fear but also his love. She'd smiled at him and laid her hand on his brow.

"I'll see you in a while," she'd whispered softly to him.

"I trust you," he'd said just before the anesthetic took him under.

No declarations of love had been needed. They each knew how the other felt or they wouldn't be here.

"Dr. Cuddy, we're ready to begin."

Cuddy reached for the speaker button and acknowledged the oncologist and interventional radiologist with an "okay."

They turned to their work and Cuddy's gaze moved to the screen above the intercom button. It had a closeup of the field. Blue drapes had been placed around the tumor. Seeing it framed off made it appear larger than it looked when taken in with the whole of his thigh.

"God, House," she whispered then flinched when the doctors began using the freezing unit. It didn't make a loud noise. She just hadn't expected one, so it startled her.

Cuddy tried to calm herself as she observed the procedure, splitting her time between the monitor and the room below. She noted the amputation surgical team members were standing back but they were also watching a display.

Some thirty-minutes in, she saw several of them nodding and a couple pointing at the screen. Cuddy looked to see what they saw.

The tumor had shrunk, marginally, but still, it was smaller. She allowed herself to feel a glimmer of hope at seeing it.

"Please, God," she heard herself praying, and she didn't pray.

Hands clasping, fingers interlacing, Cuddy brought them up to her mouth and bumped them against her lips, whispering the words over and over again. He didn't believe. She wasn't sure she believed, but it couldn't hurt.

But the procedure did, and her heart shot into her throat, nearly choking her when she saw House move on the table and his head jerk to the side.

_Pain!_

Slamming her hand onto the intercom, she shouted, "Get him back under!"

But they were already trying, the anesthesiologist was attempting to make adjustments while keeping House's hand from pulling down the IV stand. Two nurses were trying to get a grip on his arm — and failing.

The oncologist and radiologist were shutting down the equipment while the surgeons were moving forward to help.

Cuddy bolted from the gallery and quickly found her way to the OR suite. She shoved her arms into the sterile gown the nurse held out for her, took the proffered mask and clamped it down over her nose and mouth as she burst into the room.

She ignored the cautions about a sterile field and went straight for House's arm. She grabbed hold of his hand, steadying the stand, and shouted his name.

"House!"

He didn't still, but he stopped fighting so hard and tried to open his eyes against the tape. Cuddy told the nurse to pull it off.

"Dr. Cuddy—"

Cuddy drew her up short with a lethally hissed, "Just do it."

Once the tape was gone, his eyes opened and he searched her out.

Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony. She hadn't seen him like this since…

"I know," she told him, speaking firmly and clearly. "We've got to get you back under."

He nodded just the slightest bit, his "please" muffled behind the mask.

Cuddy glanced up at the anesthesiologist, letting him know it was okay to proceed.

"Give him something for the pain." It was probably a needless order. Any doctor worth their degree would already be giving him something.

House suddenly let go of the IV stand and took hold of her hand. "I know," she repeated, catching his gaze again. He held her fingers so tightly that she thought he might break bones.

He looked over her shoulder then, at the monitor and she followed his line of sight. His heart rate was out the roof. So was his blood pressure. House released her hand when she reached for the telemetry tape.

"Oh God," she said under her breath then snapped sharply, "He's going to arrest if you don't get him back under now!"

Cuddy looked at the nurse. "Prep a syringe. 5mLs calcium gluconate and have it on stand by."

"Ketamine on board,"

At hearing that, Cuddy looked back to House and saw the sedation taking hold. Her heart racing, she laid her hand on his brow and kept it there until he was completely out his vitals settled.

That's when she lost it.

"Are you a complete idiot?! How do you under-anesthetize a patient with a history of chronic, debilitating pain and long-term pharmacological treatment?!" she hurled at the anesthesiologist then spun and looked at the two doctors who'd been doing the procedure. "What the hell happened?"

They looked down and Cuddy seethed.

"For God's sake, he's not going to sue," she lit into them, not caring if that's the reason they'd dodged the question, and gestured to House, "He's the guy who _gets_ sued."

"Bleed through to a nerve bundle," the oncologist stated plainly. "We can continue…"

"… but there'll be more pain," Cuddy anticipated and felt her heart break in two.

"Yes."

Stepping around the curtain, Cuddy's gaze fell on House's thigh. The drapes had fallen away in the chaos, exposing the full scar. The cryo needles were still sticking out of the tumor. She fought the urge to reach and pull them out.

"How bad?" she asked, an almost welcome numbness settling over her.

When neither doctor answered, she looked up at them. It was right there in their eyes. She'd just witnessed it.

_Dear God._

Cuddy closed her eyes briefly and bit her lip to squelch the tears threatening. She looked to the orthopedic surgeon.

"If they stop now," she said softly, "can you do it the way he wants?"

As his colleagues moved out of the way, the doctor stepped up. He looked at House's leg closely then up at her and she had her answer.

Easing back to House, Cuddy gazed down at him. He was out, but she still saw the ghost of pain in his features. No one else in the room probably noticed, but she did.

_This is it._

A tear slipping free, Cuddy gave the order.

"Take it," she said softly, then stronger, "Take it. And take the damned pain with it."


	81. Chapter 81

**Part 81**

It was an exhausted Lisa Cuddy who found her way to the surgical waiting room.

She'd spent the last seven hours sitting next to House as the surgeons amputated his right leg. She should have gone out sooner to let the others know, but she hadn't been able to leave him. She hadn't wanted to leave him. She would still be with him if she didn't have a child she needed to hug close and people who needed to be told.

Blythe rose upon seeing her, her eyes filling with tears. Chase and Thirteen knew — it'd taken too long for them to have not suspected. And Stacy … she was the one who spoke.

"Oh God."

That's all she said and it's all anyone could say, really.

"Mommy!"

_Rachel. _

Cuddy tried to find a smile for her daughter but failed. She just picked up Rachel who'd run straight into her arms and hugged her tight, fighting against the tears that threatened to overtake her.

She was tired. She was heartbroken. She was terrified. She wanted to go back and sit with House.

"Lisa, come sit down."

It was Stacy. She'd taken Cuddy by the elbow and was directing her to the nearest chair. Cuddy hadn't realized she'd been walking.

Chase came around in front of her, knelt and reached for her wrist to check her pulse. She shook her head. "I'm okay."

"You're exhausted," he countered. She couldn't argue with him.

"Is House okay?"

Leave it to the child in the room to ask the hard question.

"He's resting," Cuddy said, not knowing what else to say.

"Transfemoral?" It was Thirteen.

"Yes."

"What's transfemoral?" Blythe's voice was tremulous. She stood several feet away, looking confused and afraid.

Cuddy felt a wave of guilt. She should have explained. Stacy already knew because they'd talked. Chase and Thirteen were doctors. But Blythe… she was a worried mother.

"I'll explain," Chase said, saving Cuddy from telling her. She watched him take Blythe by the hand and walk her back to another chair.

Thirteen caught Cuddy's gaze but asked Rachel if she wanted to get some ice cream. It was an offer no child would pass up. Rachel went with her leaving Cuddy alone with Stacy.

"How bad was it?"

Cuddy couldn't look at her friend.

"It hit a nerve bundle … he woke up from the anesthesia."

Cuddy flinched as images of House jerking and writhing in pain flashed in her mind. She leaned forward and buried her head in her hands with a groan.

"God, there was so much pain," she whispered hoarsely and physically shuddered when Stacy placed a hand on her back in comfort.

"You did the right thing."

"I know," Cuddy said, and she knew she had. "He couldn't live like _that._"

"He didn't want to, Lisa," Stacy asserted, her accent more pronounced with emotion. "It's why he made the decision and gave you the power to act on it when he couldn't."

Cuddy sat up slowly. "I still have to tell him."

"You think he doesn't know?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Cuddy replied. If he remembered any of the pain when he woke, it was possible. "He's going to be out for a while longer."

"He can use the rest," Stacy commented.

"Yes," Cuddy agreed then looked over to see Blythe still talking with Chase. "I should have told her more."

"That was Greg's responsibility, not yours."

"He didn't keep her in the dark," Cuddy defended him and drew a soft laugh from Stacy.

Cuddy looked over at her.

"You always protect him, Lisa. Even when he hasn't done anything wrong."

It was true and Cuddy didn't bother trying to deny it.

"I can't help it," she stated solemnly. "I love him."


	82. Chapter 82

I want to thank everyone for their support for "Making Amends" so far. I am overwhelmed by your feedback and touched that so many of you are enjoying the story. It is a story I am enjoying writing even though it has been extremely painful at times. Writing the amputation scene was particularly difficult. It wasn't until a few days ago that I realized it was going to happen because, frankly, organic storytelling tends to take on a life of its own. Most of the time, I am simply the transcriber, putting into words what I see playing out in my mind. **  
**

* * *

**Part 82**

The air in the ICU was colder than anywhere else in the hospital.

That's why Cuddy was nestled in a warmed blanket while she sat at House's bedside. Her hand was curled around his while she gazed at him. He was still under anesthetic but it would be wearing off any time now.

To Cuddy's eyes, he looked … restful. The spectre of pain that always clung to him like a shroud, even when sleeping or medicated was simply not there.

It seemed strange to look at him and not see it. She knew there would be some eventually, once the medications wore off. Losing a limb guaranteed it, but it likely would lessen in time, maybe go away altogether.

_A House without pain … or less pain._

It was almost hard to fathom. It had been a part of his life for so long. He had let it define him and his world for nearly two decades. For it to suddenly be gone…

Cuddy could remember a Greg House without pain — at least the physical variety. He'd still been an egotistical ass, but he'd also been fantastically fun. She remembered the grad student who'd played lacrosse and been the life of any party he attended. She remembered specifically going to one of those parties to seduce him, and been successful. She remembered him laughing and smiling, which is something she didn't think he'd truly done in years.

Cuddy was not naive enough to believe he would return to being that man. The loss of a limb was a major trauma, life-altering event for anyone. For House…

After so many years spent fighting to keep his leg, enduring the misery of it and coping with the drug addiction it spawned, Cuddy was unsure what his reaction would be to know that it was finally gone.

Medical school educated doctors-to-be that losing a limb was often seen as a death of self, or a part of self, and would trigger a grief process just like that of losing a loved one.

Denial and isolation. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Those were the five stages and they didn't come in such a nice neat order. Grief would be easier if they did.

Cuddy acknowledged that in many respects, House had been grieving for years. He'd spent the time since the infarction bouncing around between the first four stages. He'd only ever really accepted the pain, which some part of him thought he deserved while the rest of him raged against the unfairness of it.

Now he would be doing it all over again, but from a different place than before, after years of living and coping with a disability, and suffering through the generally painful experiences of life.

But there were so many things that were going to complicate the process. His legal situation for one. The psychological triggers of his childhood were still and ever present. Then there was the still-open wound of Wilson's death.

There was a tough road ahead of him — ahead of them both. She dreaded it as much as she was ready to take it on.

Seeing House's eyelids flutter and his head shift on the pillow, Cuddy rose and squeezed his hand.

"Hey," she said softly, anxiety vying with relief. She watched his eyes open slowly. "I'm here," she whispered.

Tears formed when he looked at her and asked the question she'd expected first.

"Did they take it?"

Cuddy nodded, her chest tightening with emotion. "Yes," she answered then breathed, "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and she watched his facial features shift subtly through a series of emotions she suspected he would feel upon learning the news. When he looked at her again, she saw resignation. It is what she'd seen when they'd sat in the bleachers at the practice field. It was hard to believe it had only been a few days ago.

"Thank you."

Cuddy trembled at the whisper of gratitude. Her heart skipped a beat. That's not what she'd expected him to say. Reaching, she laid her hand atop his head.

"What do you remember?" she asked, almost breathless as the tightness around her heart eased in one way and increased in another.

At her question, the deep blue of his eyes became intense with awareness.

"Enough."


	83. Chapter 83

**Part 83**

The anger came later when House was confronted with his markedly increased loss of mobility. It was the inability to turn over in the bed without help that prompted the first barrage.

Cuddy took it in stride even though it pained her to see him have to fight so hard for the independence he cherished. It's part of the reason he'd tried to keep the leg in the first place.

The medical staff was another story. They were wide-eyed at the verbal evisceration. She just told them to grow a thick skin and helped them turn him. Once he was settled, supportive pillows at his back and the railing raised, the nurses left him to calm down.

His breath coming in heavy puffs, he looked down at the bandaged-stump, now clearly noticeable in the new position, and because the tail of his gown was in disarray.

He didn't stay anything about the leg but told her, "I'm feeling a breeze on my ass. I know it looks great and that everyone _knows_ I'm an ass, but I'd rather not _literally_ show it."

Glad to see his sense of sarcasm intact, Cuddy moved around to that side of the bed and readjusted the material to shield his modesty. She then pulled the warm blankets back up over him.

"Do you need to pee?" she asked, figuring he might after all the jostling and the steady saline drip they'd had him on since the morning. The catheter had been removed after surgery and he hadn't gone since waking.

"Yeah." He sounded exhausted.

Finding the container, Cuddy came around again and lowered the railing, which he'd used to help pull himself over onto his side. He leaned against the pillows at his back while Cuddy pulled the blankets just out of the way, keeping the rest of him covered.

He grunted in frustration when he tried to free himself but found the position of his left arm inadequate to fight with the gown and do the other stuff. As Cuddy watched, she fought the desire to jump in and immediately help. She knew, in the long run, it was best to let him do as much for himself as he could and wait for him to tell her when he needed help.

When he looked up at her after a moment, a silent request in his eyes, Cuddy helped him with the gown, opening the bottom tie and lifting the tail up out of the way. He managed with his body, but then asked her to hold the container for him.

She did without question and heard to him sigh and watched him close his eyes.

"There are times that feels _almost_ as good as sex," he commented and she smiled because she couldn't argue with him. If the bladder was full enough, relieving it could definitely compare to the euphoria that came after a good orgasm.

Once he finished, she helped him clean up and re-situate the gown and blankets before placing the container where the nurses could take it without having to venture too far into the room.

Cuddy then curled back up in the chair and snuggled beneath her own blanket. She met House's gaze across the distance. He looked sleepy.

"You should get some more rest," she said softly.

He just looked at her and she could see was thinking about something and considering if he should say what it was. After a few moments, she asked.

"What is it?"

"I can still feel it," he finally said.

Cuddy nodded in understanding. As doctors, they both knew to expect phantom limb sensation, even pain.

"Are you in pain?" she asked even though her visual assessment indicated that he wasn't.

"No, but that's probably the drugs," he stated and knew she was talking to House the physician. "What's weird is _the leg_ isn't hurting."

Cuddy smiled at him. "I think that's a good thing," she said softly.

"Wilson, Nolan, and you, all thought a large part of my pain was psychological," he countered. There was no accusation in it. That wasn't miraculous, but the fact Cuddy didn't feel guilty anyway kind of was.

Still, she frowned.

"I've always thought that emotional pain sometimes exacerbated your perception of the physical, not that your pain was largely psychological," Cuddy replied. It was semantics but a more accurate interpretation of her thoughts on the matter — and Wilson's.

"You're not wrong."

That was a huge admission.

"They're going to want you in counseling," she ventured to see his receptiveness. If anyone was going to need it, it'd be House.

"I wonder if Nolan makes _House_ calls" was his response.

It made her smile again, briefly.

"Will you do it?" she asked.

"I'll _do_ you," he countered with a smirk. "I'll talk with Nolan."

"And me?" she pressed.

The smirk disappeared but his answer was positive.

"I'm … learning."


	84. Chapter 84

**Part 84**

Cuddy stood out of the way as the physiotherapist was putting House through some light movement exercises. He was sweating, his eyes were clenched shut, and his hands had a death-grip on the sides of the mattress.

To say it was painful was an understatement. He was bearing it, though. It was vital that he do so if he ever hoped to use a prosthetic. He didn't have the option of ditching therapy for a cane, like last time. And he would _never_ consent to a wheelchair. He would walk again or die trying. So he was keeping his mouth shut, mostly, and doing what he was told.

"You're doing great," the therapist was encouraging him. "Most people pass out by now."

"I have no intention of passing out," he strained out, nodding toward Cuddy, "Unless it's on _top_ of her. Or _under_ her. Either's good."

The therapist cast a look in Cuddy's direction. Cuddy just shrugged. She'd given up being embarrassed by what House said a long time ago.

"How much more?" House asked.

"Just a few more," the therapist responded and kept her word. Once she finished, she helped House settle into a comfortable position and wedged pillows around his leg to keep him stable. "I'll be back in the morning and we'll work again," the woman said then looked at Cuddy, who nodded when the therapist added, "I'll teach Dr. Cuddy how to help."

"You're a sadist," House told the middle-aged blond.

"I've been called worse," she responded with a smile. "And I'm sure you'll come up with worse insults before we're done."

House relaxed back against the bed and assessed her for just a moment, gaze sharp, before speaking. "I'll start work immediately."

The woman was still smiling. "You do that, Dr. House."

Cuddy watched the woman leave in wonder. With just a few words, she'd earned House's respect. Looking to him, Cuddy commented. "You've found a worthy opponent."

"Oh yeah, she's gonna be loads of fun. Torturers always are."

"House," she chided even though she saw he didn't mean it. Moving back over to the bedside, Cuddy let her gaze drift over him. "You need a bath."

"Well so long as it's you giving it and not Nurse Rached or Saturday Night Fever out there, I'm game."

Saturday Night Fever was one of the male floor nurses who sported a pompadour a la John Travolta. He looked terribly out-of-date, but completely oblivious. House had wasted several perfectly good references on the guy.

Bending down, Cuddy kissed House on the brow. "I'll get what we need," she said then moved away.

"Hey," he called out as she neared the door.

Cuddy looked over at him.

"Is the kid still here?"

Cuddy was touched by the question. She smiled at him.

"Stacy took her and your mother to my place for the night."

He nodded but looked disappointed. Cuddy wondered at that. He didn't "miss" Rachel, not in the sense that others missed people.

"Do you want to see her?" Cuddy asked, ready to call immediately if he did.

"I'll see her tomorrow," he said then looked down to where his leg used to be. "Does she know?"

Cuddy returned to his side. "I told her."

He looked up. "Think it'll scare her?"

"No. I didn't keep anything from her," Cuddy said. She had spent a good bit of time explaining the situation to Rachel, who'd seemed to comprehend that next time she saw House he wouldn't have one of his legs.

If anything, Cuddy was worried about House's mother — not that she would be afraid but devastated. She'd taken the news hard. Cuddy had apologized for not preparing her better, but the woman had shaken it off. "You had enough on your mind, dear," Blythe had said. "I'm just glad he has you to help him through all this."

Taking hold of House's hand, Cuddy shared her concerns.

"She'll have it all squared away by the morning," he said, sounding positive of it.

Cuddy couldn't say one way or another.

"You'll see her then?"

"Then she'll go home," he said, holding Cuddy's gaze. "That's how it works with us."


	85. Chapter 85

**Part 85**

_That's how it works with us._

House had said that last night and Cuddy had just witnessed it in living color.

Just as he'd predicted, Blythe had shored herself up, talked to him just a bit then left. It hadn't been cold or unkind, or even disconnected, just … distanced. It was unlike what Cuddy had seen from the woman before, but entirely reminiscent of her own mother in some ways.

Once Blythe was out of the room, House looked at her as if to say "I told you so" but instead told her Rachel could come in now.

"Stacy will bring her back soon when she sees your mother leave," Cuddy told him and sank down in the chair where she'd spent the night.

"The scrubs look good on you," he told her and she smiled. She'd donned them after taking a quick shower in the staff locker room.

"You know, I never suspected that was a particular fantasy of yours," she teased. "I figured you for the naughty schoolgirl. Maybe stripper. Or dominatrix."

His eyes brightened more with each one she mentioned. Mischievous is what she'd label him at the moment.

"The scrubs don't show off your assets as well, but they also hint at a lot to discover," he stated plainly then added. "Yes to a schoolgirl uniform. Definitely _yes_ to stripper. As for dominatrix … you prefer to give up authority in bed."

Cuddy flushed and saw House's eyes take on a predatory sensuality, telling her that he was reading her in that way that scared the hell out of her, and excited her.

"You're too controlled in the rest of your life," he noted and she couldn't deny what he was saying. But this wasn't going to be the time to discuss it further, not with Rachel entering the room.

Rising, Cuddy met her daughter and picked her up. Rachel hugged her then her eyes zeroed in on House. Cuddy took her over to the bed and watched her face as she took everything in.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not as much."

At his answer, Cuddy saw Rachel smile. "Mommy made you better," she pronounced.

Cuddy looked to House and watched relief settle on him. The unconditional love of a child could heal better than any medicine doctors could prescribe.

_Which is why he wanted to see Rachel,_ Cuddy realized.

That unquestioning acceptance. He needed that, just like everyone else, maybe even more than most. But it also meant that he'd accepted Rachel in ways that Cuddy had once thought him incapable. She'd underestimated him in that — and other things.

"Yeah, kid. She's working on it," House replied then looked past Cuddy and Rachel to the room's other occupant.

Stacy had moved slowly around to the opposite side of the bed. Cuddy watched her look at where House's leg used to be. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"Greg," she said softly then looked at him for a moment before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his brow. "I'm proud of you," Cuddy heard Stacy whisper as she withdrew.

House looked at Cuddy in response and all she could do was give him a smile.

"Me, too," she said softly.

Sensing and seeing House was starting to feel uncomfortable, Cuddy asked him if he was hungry.

"Yeah."

"Well, how about Rachel and I go get you something?" she suggested, with a glance at her daughter. "Any requests?"

"Reuben," he said.

_Predictable. _Cuddy smiled.

"I'll see what I can find," she said then leaned down and kissed him. On the mouth, not the brow as Stacy had. Rachel took that as her cue to kiss his cheek before Cuddy could right herself.

House endured the attention, but she sensed his relief when she patted his chest then eased away, leaving him to talk with Stacy.

Cuddy caught the other woman's words to him as the door swung closed behind her and Rachel.

"Don't you dare break their hearts…"


	86. Chapter 86

**Part 86**

Cuddy startled awake.

For a half-second, she wondered why but then her ears registered House's labored breathing. She was on her feet instantly, blanket tossed aside.

"House?" she said, hitting the switch to turn on the light over the bed.

He looked at her. "Cramp. Piriformis."

_Damn._ Cuddy'd had a round with that muscle herself and to call it evil would be a mild condemnation. It felt like someone was trying to pull the hip joint back to meet the inner pelvis. She could only imagine what it must feel like for him without the full weight of his leg.

"Okay, hang on."

Cuddy went around to the drug cart and grabbed a syringe and vial of lidocaine.

"I need to direct inject," she said as she prepped it.

Hearing the railing on the bed moving, she turned to see House lifting it up with his left hand. Once it locked into place, he reached and curled both hands around it and began pulling himself up onto his side. It was happening so fast, Cuddy barely had time to register what she was seeing.

"Anyone who thinks you're weak is an idiot…" she said under her breath as she moved to him. "No fluoroscope or ultrasound, so tell me when I hit it."

"Don't think that'll be a problem," he groaned.

"They call it 'double devil' for a reason," Cuddy noted as she moved his gown out of the way, exposing his ass. It would be better if he could turn all the way over, but there was no way she was going to ask that of him.

"Watch out for the sciatic," he told her as she swabbed an injection site, after quickly calculating the most likely location to avoid that very nerve.

"Did I ever tell you that I aced A&P?" she countered then warned him, "Stick," just before slipping the needle through his skin.

"You don't graduate med school at twenty-five without acing A&P," he said through a clenched jaw.

"But I didn't get a perfect score on my MCAT, you did," she continued talking, knowing it was a distraction for him.

"You didn't have to repeat a year of medical school," he volleyed back.

"I didn't double board," she said then shushed him when he started to respond.

Closing her eyes, she "felt" for the tense muscle that lay below the gluteus, knowing it would jump when the needle touched it. And it did.

"That's it," he grunted.

"Injecting."

It didn't take long for it the local to take affect. He sighed when it did.

Cuddy tossed the empty syringe into the sharps box then rearranged his gown.

"Ready to lay back?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy placed her hands on his back and helped support him as he slowly lowered himself. His arms were trembling with the effort but he held out long enough to settle down on the bed.

His eyes fell closed almost immediately, but he blindly helped her position his stump against the pillow. He winced as they did.

"Hurting?" she asked, frowning. He hadn't complained much about pain from the stump. He'd been toughing that out silently so far.

"Some," he said. "Sore mostly."

"Want anything for it?" she asked.

"In a while, when they come to change the dressing," he said on a heavy sigh.

He hated that part, having strangers touch his body, so close to…

"Do you want me to do it this time?" she asked, thinking to spare him a bit of the frustration and awkwardness that came with the experience.

He shook his head against the pillow. "You do enough, Cuddy."

"That's not an answer," she told him and watched his eyes open. "Do you want me to do it?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he said, adding, "Saturday Night Fever was a bit handsy the last couple of times."

It was a deflection but she let him have it. She knew that he thought he was asking too much of her and often overlooked the fact she was the one offering.

"Well, Saturday Night Fever better keep his hands to himself," Cuddy responded. "Because your balls are mine."

He actually smiled.

"I'm _totally_ okay with that."

Smiling, Cuddy leaned down, eyes holding his as she descended. "It's a good thing because I'm rather attached to them … and particularly fond of _who's_ attached to them."

"Yeah?" he rasped.

"Yeah," she whispered then breathed softly, "I love you."

His eyes searched hers while his hands rose to touch her face.

"I love you," he murmured then pulled her down and into a kiss so soft and loving that it made her cry.


	87. Chapter 87

**Part 87**

"Thank you," Cuddy said into her cell phone then disconnected the call.

She looked to see the nursing assistant, Jonathan, retreating from the bathroom. She wasn't surprised having heard House let the bulky young man have it with both barrels.

As she'd expected, House's disposition had taken a downturn when it came to certain bodily functions. His adamant refusal to use the bedpan had necessitated the involvement of someone other than herself. She simply wasn't tall enough or strong enough to get him out of the bed and into the bathroom on her own.

"Dr. Cuddy…"

"I know," she told him sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"It's a big adjustment," he said with a shrug.

Cuddy nodded as she moved past him. "I'll let you know when we're ready to get him back into the bed."

"I'll be just outside."

"Thank you."

When she opened the bathroom door, her heart clenched. Bless him, he was barely able to hold himself in place using the bars and railings. He looked up at her, utterly embarrassed, frustrated and angry.

She'd known this would be the hardest part for him. It had been the first time. There was nothing easy about having to relearn the mundane but necessary things done daily for a lifetime. Human beings took too much for granted, until they were confronted with the loss or impediment of something so basic.

Knowing he'd see any empathy she might offer as patronizing, Cuddy just went to him.

"What do you need?" she asked directly.

"I… I can't…"

He hung his head at the indignity, unable to even get the words out. That's okay, she knew what he meant and could help.

She did and felt him trembling when her body made contact with his to complete the task. It wasn't caused by just the physical strain. His emotional control was taking a beating at the moment.

"It's okay," she told him as she cleaned him up.

"There's _nothing_ okay about you wiping my ass," he disagreed.

"Then why not let Jonathan help?"

"I'm not big on humiliation, and this is humiliating enough."

"I know," Cuddy replied. "But it _is_ okay to let me help. And it will get better."

"You don't know that," he said when she drew back.

Crouched in front of him, she caught his gaze. "I know _you_," she told him. "You are relentless in _everything_ you do. You _will_ do this."

"You've always had too much faith in me," he told her and she saw his deep-seated insecurities rising to the surface.

Cuddy shook her head firmly. "My faith in you has always been the right amount," she said then confessed, "or sometimes not enough." She paused. "But it has never been misplaced, House. _Never._"

He looked at her a moment then she saw an unexpected quirk of a smile.

"I'd kiss you, but the locale…"

Cuddy gave him a tolerant smile. His sense of humor…

"Hold the thought," she told him. "I'll get Jonathan and we'll get you back to bed."

"Okay, but you two will have to do the work. That's if you're thinking a threesome. I mean, I can be there, but…"

She threw a smile at him over your shoulder when she reached the door.

"You do know they're taking bets on why you behave for me?"

He perked up at that. He loved to bet and gossip, especially when he was the subject of it. It was perverse, but it was him.

"What's the odds on favorite?"

She smirked.

"I'll _tie_ you later."


	88. Chapter 88

**Part 88**

_November 20, 2012_

_My strength is starting to wane faster and the pain is increasing. I need House's help more often now. __Of course, it would help if I stopped mixing copious amounts of booze with pain medication. House is more acclimated to it, but I'm a total wimp._

_All I can say is that you know someone loves you when they can wipe your ass and refrain from making jokes. For House that's a monumental confession of love._

_He will never say the words, at least not until the end._

_I should probably ask him to end it now before I get worse, but I can't just yet. He's not ready. He'll fight me on it. And I'm not ready yet either. I do still have days where I feel okay and not entirely miserable._

_I'm beginning to understand him better. Living with pain is … insanity. And yet he has endured it for years. He tells me it's not the same, that what I feel is worse. Maybe it is. I can't know his pain anymore than he can really know mine._

_I can say that I've never lived in the misery he has. I've had a more "normal" existence, friends, wives, a loving if dysfunctional family. Of course, he reminds me frequently that normal is boring and overrated. _

_And he's not wrong. _

_I have been alive but not lived, not the way I could have. I would not trade these last few months for one year of my best marriage. I'm not sure what that says about me, but it speaks to Greg House's uncanny ability to understand things about me that I do not understand about myself._

_I had started this thinking I wanted to go out living. He has convinced me to go out living in a blaze of glory. His kind of glory at least._

_Last night, he beat my ass at bowling. I wasn't feeling all that great but still I lost to a man with only one good leg. He crowed for hours to anyone who would listen. I could only laugh in the end and buy the next round of drinks — of course. I'm pretty sure House has never picked up a tab in his life._

* * *

"Cuddy?"

The soft murmur drew Cuddy from the pages of Wilson's journal to the man she'd just been reading about. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the low light of the reading lamp to the shadows which enshrouded the bed where he lay.

"I'm here."

"I need something to do."

Cuddy smiled a little. She'd been waiting for him to say something. His mind was rarely idle and the last few days, he'd begun regaining enough strength to spend less time sleeping. Which meant he was getting bored.

Setting aside Wilson's journal, Cuddy reached down into her bag and pulled out a folder. She took it over to the bed and switched on the light above it.

"Here," she said, handing him the file.

He looked at her in question.

"Chase sent it over this morning," she told him.

"I'm taking it the case isn't critical or you would have given this to me earlier."

"Not critical, no, but the patient's family is of some influence. They petitioned the medical board to make an exception when they found out you were still above ground."

"My license?"

"Still suspended," she said, wishing she could tell him otherwise. "But they've approved a consultation."

He looked down at the folder but didn't open it. She offered him a teaser of what was inside.

"The patient is a thirty-year-old female presenting with more than twenty symptoms, all of which appear to defy a single underlying cause as explanation. She was in good health up until about three months ago. She's seen fifteen doctors in that time but none of them have a clue at to what's wrong."

"If patients end up in my end of the pool, that's always the case," he said, finally flipping the file open. "Plus, most doctors are _idiots_."

Cuddy watched him begin to read.

"That's what I thought you would say," she said with a smile, adding, "Chase is on standby if you need any of the usual stuff done."

He didn't answer, but Cuddy hadn't expected him to. He had a puzzle to solve.


	89. Chapter 89

**Part 89**

With House currently engaged with a medical puzzle, Cuddy took the opportunity to make a trip home.

She'd done it a few times in the days since the surgery, but only to pick up necessities and grab a shower in private. She was planning to spend a bit longer today, needing to pay some bills and make some calls. She also wanted to spend some quality time with Rachel.

Although her daughter had taken everything in stride, Cuddy worried that Rachel might start feeling neglected. Cuddy was already feeling guilty about the very prospect of it.

Heading upstairs first, Cuddy ditched the scrubs she'd donned just this morning and tossed them in the hamper. She turned on the water to heat while she released her hair from the haphazard ponytail she'd crafted last night. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, but not as tired as she probably should have. The chair in House's room was comfortable enough, but it wasn't meant for long-term occupation, even if it reclined.

Stepping into the shower, Cuddy closed the glass door behind her and let the hot jets of water sluice over her. It felt wonderful and she let out a sigh at feeling the muscles in her neck relax. She loved hot showers and would probably have spent the rest of her life, or at least a large portion of it, right there if the water hadn't started to run cool. She really needed to have a larger water heater put in.

After dressing in the most comfortable clothes she had in her closet, Cuddy pulled her hair up again and took care of the bills and calls. She was just finishing up the latter when Janice came home with Rachel.

"Mommy!"

Cuddy smiled as she descended the stairs. "Hey, sweetie," she said and gave Rachel a hug. "I've missed you," she told her.

"Where's House?"

_The man is an infectious disease_, Cuddy mused, not surprised that Rachel's first inclination was to look for her sometimes playmate. She adored House, but so did Cuddy.

"He's still at the hospital," she told Rachel. "Remember we talked about that?"

"Oh yeah," Rachel said then, not missing a beat, asked, "Can we go see him?"

Cuddy glanced at Janice. "I can pick her up later," the nanny offered.

"You're a godsend, Janice," Cuddy told her.

"Being a caregiver is not easy." It was said without fanfare but her voice carried the distinct note of experience.

"Thank you," Cuddy said then set Rachel down on her feet. "Why don't you go find the tennis ball for House? He's working on a puzzle and it helps him think."

"I like puzzles," Rachel announced as she went off to presumable do as Cuddy suggested.

In the meantime, Cuddy spoke with Janice about upping her pay since she was doing so much overtime duty with Rachel. She filled her in on another matter that she'd need to be aware of.

"I've taken care of the calls to get things started," Cuddy says as she rolled out the papers. "And I have someone coming to supervise but this is going to make things kind of a mess around here."

The young woman listened as Cuddy explained what was going to be happening, pointing out the dead space between the bathroom and kitchen on the floor plan.

"I had no idea that was here," Janice said of the elevator shaft.

"It was a common feature built into homes from this era, though a large dumbwaiter for laundry and such was the most common use," Cuddy explained. "The architect told me that city permits show there was a working elevator in there about twenty years ago. The owner at that time was wheelchair-bound, but apparently the last owners boarded it up."

"Wonder why?"

"I don't know but the contractors will be opening up the wall and checking out the condition of the structure, and see what needs to be done to make it serviceable again."

"So you're expecting him to stay?"

It was said with a playful curiosity, but Cuddy couldn't match the tone when she answered.

"I honestly don't know," she said, her eyes still on the plans. She had told Janice a little bit about House's situation, but not all the details. "Some things are still up in the air, but I want to be ready if he can. He is months away from attempting the stairs, and he needs access to the bath because the one downstairs is not going to work for him."

Cuddy's renovated shower had a bench that he could use, and there was also a tub. All it needed was to have railings and handles installed. She made a mental note to have the contractors put in that larger water heater while they were at it.

After filling Janice in on as much as she could, Cuddy sought out Rachel. She smiled finding her daughter sitting at the piano, looking at the keys. The tennis ball sat between two of the black ones.

"You ready to go see House?" Cuddy asked.

"Yes!" Rachel said excitedly as she slid off the bench. Once on her feet, she grabbed the ball and headed to the door, leaving Cuddy to grab her messenger and overnight bags and follow.


	90. Chapter 90

**Part 90**

"House, mommy got you a present!"

Rachel made the announcement the second she was inside the room. It startled House awake.

"Sorry," Cuddy mouthed as Rachel marched straight to the bed with the gift-wrapped box.

He shrugged it off and took the box from Rachel before she could plop it down on his stump.

"I picked it out," Rachel said triumphantly.

He looked down at Cuddy's daughter and asked, "Should I be afraid?"

"No, silly, it's a present," Rachel said with an adamant shake of her head. "Mommy says you'll like it."

"Is it pink?" House asked, giving Rachel a look over.

Rachel smiled. "No, you're a boy."

"Hey, I have a pink shirt," House countered.

"No, you don't," Rachel insisted.

"Yes, I do. Ask your mommy."

Rachel looked to Cuddy for confirmation.

"He does."

Confused, Rachel looked back at House, who asked, "Does it have kittens and rainbows?"

"No," Rachel huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"Sparkly things?"

Cuddy cut in with a sigh. "House, just open it."

In response, he smiled at Rachel and opened the package. Rachel grinned the entire time, jumping up and down as he got closer and closer to revealing the contents.

House looked at Rachel then over at Cuddy once he saw the contents — a handheld game system, a red one.

"I know it helps you think," Cuddy said, then held out a paper gift bag, which Rachel happily came to get. "We picked out a few games, but if you don't like them, let me know what you want."

"I picked the car one," Rachel announced

The interaction that unfolded was priceless.

Rachel pulled the games out of the sack, one at a time, and described them to House, and why _she_ liked them.

Cuddy watched House go along with the show-and-tell session. She could tell he wasn't entirely comfortable. He was often unsettled by no-strings-attached generosity. He still struggled with feelings of unworthiness when it came to things like that. But he was learning. Rachel was a big help on that front. Her enthusiasm fascinated him. He just couldn't figure out her enthusiasm for him. He didn't think he had anything to offer her, but he couldn't be more wrong.

He looked down at the presents, then at Rachel. "Thanks, kid."

Before Cuddy could react, Rachel climbed up the side of the bed. Somehow she managed to tip-toe on the lower railing, strained and kiss House's cheek without disaster.

House's expression was startled, which made Rachel giggle. She hopped down then and ran back over to Cuddy, announcing, "I have your ball."

Cuddy handed it to her and watched her take it to House. He took it when Rachel held it out.

"Mommy said it helps you make sick people feel better," Rachel said as if she'd been let in on a secret of great importance.

"It does sometimes," he told her as he turned the ball in his hand then tossed it up into the air and caught it.

"Will it make you feel better?" Rachel asked.

Eyes on Rachel again, Cuddy heard him say with absolute sincerity, "It just might."

Delight was the only way to describe the expression on Rachel's face. She looked at the stump of House's leg then reached out and touched it. Cuddy cringed but Rachel was gentle and House showed no sign of pain — just apprehension and surprise. As Rachel's little hand rested on him, her delight faded to somber affection and her words communicated why.

"I want you to come home."


	91. Chapter 91

An über short one, but fun...

* * *

**Part 91**

"The patient is a _walking pharmacy_," House groused as he talked to Chase and his team over the speakerphone."Every time she went into an office, some moron with a framed piece of paper on the wall gave _her_ a piece of paper and said, 'here, take this'. It's pharmaceutical trick-or-treating."

"We've already taken her off most of them and are weaning her off the rest." It was Chase.

"She should sue them," House continued complaining. "Half her complaints could be related to interactions alone. _No one _needs four antihistamines. Why not just put her in a plastic bubble and be done with it?"

Chase started to speak again, but House cut him off. "Send her vitals and _untainted_ bloodwork results to Cuddy's email as soon as you have them. And get me the chart for the original exam," he said then hung up.

"That bad?" Cuddy asked.

He looked at her. He was visibly agitated.

"They suspend my license over non-medical idiocy while _actual idiots_ are allowed to practice medicine solely by pen and prescription pad."

As he was speaking, Cuddy watched him move as if he was about to get out of the bed. Unless he was hurting terribly, walking was something he did when he was this upset. Right now, he couldn't but was reaching for his cane instinctively, expecting it to be beside him.

When he grasped empty air, she watched realization dawn and fury rush through him. He picked up the tennis ball from the food tray and hurled it across the room. It bounced to somewhere and stilled.

Cuddy hurt for him. His pain seemed to have lessened a great degree but the last couple days had brought with them the realities of the amputation and what he was going to have to do to regain his independence and resume an ambulatory life.

"Do you want to get out of here for a while?" she asked.

He shot a glare at her. "Where am I supposed to go!?" he snapped, pointed at his non-existent leg. "I. Can't. Walk."

Cuddy let his anger pass over her, just looked at him. "With a wheelchair, we can go out for some fresh air."

So far, he'd refused the chair, but she could see he was more receptive at the moment.

"I know where the roof access is," she told him. The roof at Princeton-Plainsboro had been a place he sometimes sought refuge.

"It's cold out," he commented. It was a lame deflection by his standards.

"The cafeteria is still open," she said then enticed when it occurred to her, "_Or_ we can sneak into the library."

They wouldn't actually have to sneak. With her employee badge, she could easily get them in after hours, but Cuddy knew the subterfuge aspect would appeal to him. She watched him seriously contemplate it.

"Do you have a flashlight and lock pick?" he finally asked, a corner of his mouth beginning to quirk upward.

Cuddy smirked. "I have a penlight and access badge."

His smile turned almost devilish.

"Get the chair."


	92. Chapter 92

**Part 92**

"Are you sure there's not a copy of the Kama Sutra in here?"

Cuddy snickered as she wandered down between the rows of books. "You have a one-track mind."

"Hey, I need to study up," his voice came from behind her, in a stage whisper. "Gotta keep you satisfied."

"You are categorically an overachiever," Cuddy said as she used her penlight scan the book spines.

"Pot. Kettle."

"Ass," she murmured.

"It's true," he stated. "_And_ you're insatiable."

"Pot. Kettle," she countered, then added, "Sex has never been an issue in our relationship and I don't see it becoming one. Your ego won't allow for it. You like my ass and breasts too much and I _do_ like that thing you do with your tongue."

"I'm loving the view right now," he said.

"You can't see anything," she told him. "I have the light."

"Ever hear of something called a _silhouette_?"

Smiling, Cuddy paused and turned sideways, pretending to look at something on the shelf, letting her silhouette take on a profile view briefly before she moved on.

"God, I wish you were naked."

Cuddy snorted. "You always want me naked."

"Not true," he protested. "I like _getting_ you naked, too."

"God, were you like this with Stacy?" Cuddy asked impulsively. She couldn't help but wonder if the sexually charged banter was an ingrained character thing with him or if he did it just because she'd play the game. Stacy didn't seemed the game-playing type — not this game at least.

"Nope, only you get full-on sexual-innuendo Greg," he responded, "Which, by the way, is your own fault."

"How is that my fault? And why are you referring to yourself in the third person?"

"Smokin' hot bod and a willingness to play," he replied and Cuddy smiled, inordinately pleased with his answer.

"And the third-person thing?" Cuddy asked as she continued looking through the shelves.

"Product placement."

"For an audience of one?"

"Do you know anyone else who'd be interested in a degenerate misanthrope with only one leg and a pronounced obsession for _all_ parts of Lisa Cuddy?"

"Point taken," Cuddy snorted then slowed down, seeing she was nearing the section they were looking for. "I think it's just down here."

"Tell me again why we're looking for this book."

"You'll see."

"If there are pictures of you in it naked, I definitely want to see."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "God, you just don't stop."

"Character flaw," he replied. "Though I suppose I could take my own pictures… You're still a 'no' on the sex tape, right? How do you feel about still photographs?"

"If I let you take one will you shut up until we find the book?" she asked and heard him come to a halt behind her.

"Are you serious?"

She'd surprised him. That made her smile.

"Maybe," she teased then moved on down the row.

"Video or photo?" he asked after her.

"Maybe," she repeated.

"You are evil," he declared and she heard him start pushing the wheels on the chair again.

"No, evil would be me telling you that I'm totally turned on by this conversation," she snarked.

"You are Satan incarnate."

"You don't believe God or Satan exist, so your assertion is invalid."

"I'm an _invalid_."

"You're a pain in the ass," Cuddy countered then stopped and looked up the shelf, her light trailing over the book spines to find the volume she wanted. She smiled seeing it.

"Here it is," she said softly then stretched to reach it. She pulled it from the shelf a bit at a time until she could get a good grip.

Once she had it firmly in hand, she lowered to her heels then held the penlight in her mouth and looked over the cover. She opened it and thumbed through the pages and found what she wanted to show him. She pulled the light from her mouth and read the title aloud from the volume of dissertations.

"The Science of Complex Diagnostics (aka The Deductive Art of Chasing Zebras) by Gregory House, soon to be M.D."


	93. Chapter 93

**Part 93**

"Why would anyone have printed and bound this?"

Cuddy looked over House's shoulder as he thumbed through the pages of a dissertation he'd submitted before his suspension from the university.

"Because it's real," she told him. "Everything you wrote in this is what I watched you do for years."

"It's basic diagnostics…"

"Basic to you," Cuddy said when his voice trailed off. "But this is well beyond anything taught in the classroom, and well beyond the comprehension of most physicians. It's … _enlightened_."

He scoffed at her word choice and she'd known he would.

"My enlightenment cost me my degree from this university," he stated, a note of bitterness.

Hoping to get him to look at it differently, she said softly near his ear. "But it brought you to me."

He turned is head and looked at her, a smile flirting with the line of his mouth. "Their loss, my gain?"

"What do you think?" she asked then kissed him soft and slow.

"My gain," he breathed when she pulled back.

Cuddy smiled. "Mine, too."

Easing around, Cuddy sat in the floor, legs akimbo. He looked at her strangely when she did.

"Read it to me," she requested.

"You've read it."

"Mmm-hmm," Cuddy confirmed. "But I'd like to hear the author give a reading."

"Cuddy…"

"Please."

He still looked hesitant.

"A button for every twenty pages?" she baited.

"You realize your shirt only has three buttons and the paper is more than one-hundred pages," he pointed out.

"Double-spaced. It's been reformatted in the book. Only forty pages," she enlightened him.

Catching on, he asked, "What do I get for the last twenty?"

"Your choice," she told him but added, "Once we're back in your room. There are security cameras in here."

He smiled. "You'll give me three buttons in a room with security cameras but no sex tape?"

"I'm hidden where I am right now. The camera's over your right shoulder."

"You're a _bad_ girl, Lisa Cuddy," he pronounced. "I like it."

With that, he began to read and she kept her side of the bargain. He turned the light on her for the first button. Did the same for the second, declaring, "I could die a happy man in your cleavage."

"Read," she told him and heard his voice deepen as he continued.

It was nice to hear him just read, no silliness, no exaggerations. Just reading, the tempo and tone changing as he began a sentence, ended it, pausing appropriately with the punctuation.

He forgot to break at the next twenty pages and she was certain he would have kept reading if she hadn't silently pushed the last button from its hold. The movement caught his eye. He didn't shine the light on her this time, just beckoned her closer.

"Come here."

Cuddy shook her head even though she wanted to nod. "Finish."

Once he did, she re-buttoned her shirt then rose. She put the book back on the shelf then moved behind him. "Let me drive," she said and pushed him out of the library.

In the elevator, she didn't push the floor for his room, but for her office. "Change of destination," she told him when he looked at her. "I think we'll need more privacy for what I think you're going to ask."

He smiled. "Am I that predictable?"

"I know how you like me," she answered.

"Yeah."

And she did.

As soon as the door to her office was closed and locked, he asked for the buttons again. She loosed them from their holds quickly, her body humming in excitement, the somewhat illicit nature of what she was doing stirring her desire.

"Now the rest of it," he said.

His voice was husky in the dark, with only the city lights behind her. She asked him if he wanted the light, but he shook his head and watched her shed her clothing until she stood stark naked in the cool air of her office.

"Come here," he whispered and she moved as close as the wheelchair would allow. It wasn't as close as she wanted, or that he wanted, but he touched her anyway, hands smoothing over the contours and shapes of her.

He grew frustrated after a few minutes but she shushed him, eased away from him and around to the back of her desk. She shoved her chair out of the way and took a seat on the desktop. She looked over her shoulder to see he'd caught on and was maneuvering the wheelchair around so that he could sit at the desk, allowing him closer to her.

He didn't say a word, just looked up at her then cupped her left breast and drew her to him.

"House," she whispered and feeling the gentle, steady tug to her nipple deep inside. She ran her hands through his hair then bowed and kiss the top of his head.

He leaned back then and looked up at her. "Do you want me?" he asked. Cuddy heard the apprehension in it. For all his bravado…

"Yes," she told him without hesitation.

"Right now?" he whispered.

Moving his hand from her thigh, Cuddy guided it between her thighs. She trembled at the touch of his fingers to her sex.

"You tell me," she breathed then gasped when he slid them inside her.

He watched her reaction and she held his gaze.

"You do," he declared.

Cuddy smiled.

"Oh yes."


	94. Chapter 94

Short but important...

* * *

**Part 94**

Cuddy held House close in the wake of her orgasm.

His head was resting against her breasts, his breaths coming slightly labored from his efforts. His arms were around her, holding onto her.

Kissing the top of his head, she whispered, "You do realize I'll never be able to counsel a student again in this office without thinking about _this_."

Cuddy felt him smile. He kissed her breastbone then drew back to look at her. Even in the low light, she could see she'd made a terrible mess of his hair. One look at him, and probably herself, and just about anyone would be able to tell he'd just ravished her.

_Ravished. _Cuddy liked that word.

"You'll have them all 'hot for teacher' when you start blushing and squirming in your chair," he said softly, with a wicked note in his voice. "Make sure I'm number one on your speed dial, for emergencies. Don't want any coeds getting any idiotic ideas."

"If you think I would be interested in coeds after _that_, then I've seriously overestimated your intelligence," she said softly, "_and_ you've seriously underestimated how sexy you are and how insanely sexy you make me feel."

"You make me feel whole."

It was said delicately, a confession that meant something to him. It stirred her heart anew.

Taking his face into her hands, Cuddy caressed him gently, thumbs sweeping across his cheekbones. "You are whole," she asserted softly, "You've lost a leg, House, you're not less of a man."

"Cuddy…"

Cuddy placed a finger against his lips, quieting him. She kissed him then, mouth touching then capturing his, her teeth scraping the bit of stubble just beneath his bottom lip. She felt him tremble and let out a soft sound.

"I love you," she breathed into him. "I _crave_ you … and it's killing me to know that you're hard for me right now and I can't have you inside me."

Easing back, Cuddy looked down into his eyes, tears welling when she confessed, "When we're intimate, my body isn't whole without you there."

His gaze was imploring. "Soon as I'm…"

"Yes," she quickly responded, hearing the promise in those few words, then kissed him again before sharing the biggest concern of her heart.

"But this _loss_ does not define you, House," she said, pressing her brow to his. "Not for me. And not for you, unless you let it."

"It's just a leg," he murmured as if reminding himself.

"Yes," Cuddy whispered then pulled back to catch his gaze.

"You are still Gregory House," she said softly. "And you are still the most incredible man I will ever know."

With his thumb, House caught the warm, tear trailing down her cheek.

"I will never deserve you, Cuddy," he whispered in the shadows. "But I can do better."

He'd said those very same words the night she'd broken off their relationship. She'd accused him then of not being able to do any better than he had. She'd defined him in that moment, by a single pill. She may have been right, or wrong. She would never know. But the man before her today she had confidence in. If he could accept the loss of his leg, definitively leave behind drugs in the midst of horrendous pain, then he _could_ do better. And so could she.

"I think we can both do better this time, and we will."

"This is not going to be easy," he told her and she knew it encompassed more than just their relationship. His recovery was going to test them both. The legal stuff would be another challenge.

"Life never is," Cuddy said with a shake of her head. "But I'm no longer looking for the next corner."

He smiled at that and took her hands from his face, laced their fingers. He liked holding hands, she'd come to learn. There was something sweet in that proclivity and so were the next words to come from his mouth.

"Sleep with me tonight?"


	95. Chapter 95

**Part 95**

"What do you think this is doing to the betting pool right now?"

Cuddy laughed against House's shoulder as she snuggled up behind him on the hospital bed. It was a tight fit even though they were both lean, but Cuddy still found it more comfortable than the chair.

"Well, considering I'm behind you and the railing is pulled up in front of you…"

"Kinky. We need handcuffs."

"No," Cuddy laughed.

"Then we need to find out the long shot and bet on that. We'd clean up"

"What if the long shot isn't true?"

"We fake it."

Cuddy smiled. "Shut up and go to sleep."

He did and so did she, soundly.

They woke to the sound of someone clearing their throat. Both she and House looked toward the foot of the bed to find House's physical therapist standing there smiling. Her name was Carla.

"You two are the talk of the floor," she said. "Disappear in the night for hours. Come back and get into bed together…"

_Great_, Cuddy thought while House asked Carla what scenario was the long shot.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I'm getting up now," she warned him and somehow managed to get out of the bed with a modicum of grace. She held the covers up so he could lay back. He leveraged himself with the railing.

"You're doing better at that," the therapist pointed out to him. "We should start you on upper-body strengthening exercises by the end of the week."

"If you're here to_ pump me up_, that position's already filled," House quipped.

Cuddy groaned and paused in stretching her back. She shot House a look. "Just for that you're going to have to wait to pee until I get back."

"You are a cruel mistress!" House called out after her but she ignored him and went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

God help her, but Cuddy really did love the idiot, or she would have hit him over the head with something by now. "Full-on sexual-innuendo Greg," as he'd called himself, could be as infuriating as exciting. He had been exciting last night. This morning … she wasn't sure yet.

Finishing up, Cuddy washed her hands then went out to find House waiting by himself.

"Carla?"

"Waiting outside," he said, "I only pee for you."

"Very romantic," Cuddy snarked as she found the urine container and took it to him.

"It admit it is pretty lame," he said as he took it from her. "But I _am_ a libertine."

When she started to walk away, over to her bag to get a change of clothes out, he asked, "What? You're not going to help?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I think you can handle that on your own now."

He threw her a pout.

"Be good and I'll give you a sponge bath later," she said to appease him.

It worked. He took care of business while she changed clothes.

When Carla came back in, Cuddy watched her work then let the woman guide her in learning how to help House prevent the muscles from stiffening and losing strength. Afraid of hurting him, she was being as gentle as possible but Carla pushed her to push him.

"It might hurt now," Carla said, "But it will get better and make things a lot easier when it comes time to work with a prosthetic."

"She's right, Cuddy," House told her. He sounded winded, but determined.

Cuddy knew the therapist was right, too, but…

"If it helps, Cuddy," House said, drawing her out of her thoughts, "Think of it as making me do clinic duty."

That was an idea Cuddy could work with and it earned praise from Carla. "There, that's better. He's a big boy, he can take it."

"I prefer to give it."

"House," Cuddy warned then eased his stump back into a comfortable position at Carla's direction.

"Tomorrow we're going to start having you lay on your stomach for thirty minutes a day," Carla said, stepping back. "You're progressing well. If you keep at this, you'll be fitted with a preliminary prosthetic within the next few weeks so we can begin balance training."

Cuddy watched House nod then grow still. He cocked his head and _that look_ emerged. After a few moments, he let out a soft, intrigued hum.

_A solution to the puzzle, possibly._

Carla looked confused, but Cuddy wasn't. She didn't wait for House to ask for a phone. She just retrieved her cell from her bag, dialed Chase, and handed the phone to House. He put it on speaker then reached for the patient's file, which sat beside the bed.

_"Chase."_

"Patient's original complaints were fatigue, dizziness, and rhinitis symptoms," House began without pleasantries. "She was prescribed antibiotics and antihistamines for suspected inner ear infection and hay fever. Second physician prescribed the same, only upped the dosages. The third concluded upper respiratory infection, more antibiotics and antihistamines. New symptoms continue to appear … itching, hives, fever, all attributed to a garden-variety allergic reaction. But two of the initial symptoms remain the same — dizziness and fatigue. They never improve. They get gradually worse. She's having TIAs."

_"Mini-strokes? House, strokes aren't generally associated with itching or sneezing. Plus there was nothing on the CT."_

"Check her white cell count, specifically the eosinophil and neutrophil levels."

There was a notable silence on the other end of the line.

_"You're thinking hypereosinophilic syndrome?" _

"Unless you're a _complete idiot_, you've already ruled out asthma, lymphoma, leukemia and the usual infection suspects," House said. "Hypereosinophilic syndrome can have multiple presentations, simultaneously or individually. It accounts for all the symptoms."

_"Her white count is elevated, which her previous doctors noted and attributed to respiratory infection," _Chase said, _"But no one has broken down the eosinphils and neutrophils."_

"Then do it and start her on prednisone and heparin when the levels come back elevated," House ordered then added before ending the call, "And get a new CT of her brain. Let's see if there's been any permanent damage."


	96. Chapter 96

**Part 96**

Cuddy was exiting the lecture hall when she saw a familiar face in the hall.

Stacy Warner. Power-suited, overcoat perfectly folded over her arm, briefcase in hand. She smiled when she met Cuddy's gaze.

"I was told I'd find you here."

Cuddy smiled then frowned. "We weren't expecting you until Friday."

"I know, but I have news."

"Good?" Cuddy was hopeful, noting Stacy's expression was not serious or grim.

"It's not bad." It wasn't evasive, but a lawyer's answer. Hedging was a part of the profession. It could be for doctors, too.

"House is in physical therapy. I'm sure he won't mind the interruption," Cuddy said, then patted the stack of papers and files in her arms. "Let me drop this and my satchel off at my office first."

"Sure."

As they made the journey down to the faculty offices, Stacy asked about House.

"He's healing well. Sore but not having near the pain he was before," Cuddy was happy to tell Stacy. "He's actually doing PT without complaint, which is a miracle. The therapist has a lot to do with that. She'll play his verbal game."

"So the pain from before?" Stacy asked.

"Not there," Cuddy said. "It could come up at some point, but right now 'THE leg,' as he calls it, doesn't hurt."

"Can he feel it?"

"Sometimes."

"I don't know what to say," Stacy said as they entered Cuddy's office. "I thought he would take the loss of the leg … badly."

"I was afraid of that myself," Cuddy said as she laid the files on her desk and tucked her satchel beneath. As she looked at the desk, for a moment, memories from late last week surfaced, but she pushed them aside and continued the conversation. It wasn't the time or place for the recollections.

"There's still fallout to come from this," Cuddy tempered both her own and Stacy's hopes that House would remain _amenable_ in regards to his leg. "His psychiatrist from Mayfield has agreed to come down this weekend to talk to him."

"He must have really bonded with this guy to continue talking to him," Stacy commented as Cuddy led her out of the office and toward the physical therapy wing.

"He trusts him," Cuddy noted. "Whatever happened there, he reached House."

"He hasn't talked to you about it?"

"Some, but there are things that he needs to say that he can't say to me," Cuddy stated as she badged her and Stacy through one of the "employee only" areas. "He needs a place to vent where he won't hurt those around him. He can do that with Nolan."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Greg House?" Stacy asked, but Cuddy heard amusement in the question. "Tall, blue eyes, ass of the universe, close-mouthed as a clam?"

Cuddy smiled. "Yes, he's still _House_. Brilliant, arrogant, challenging. But he's different, too."

"So we keep saying," Stacy replied. "I wonder what Wilson would make of his best friend."

Not wanting to tip her hand in regards to things it was best Stacy _not_ know, Cuddy didn't mention Wilson's journal when she answered.

"I think Wilson would be proud of him," Cuddy said softly and fondly. Thoughts of Wilson always stirred that feeling for her. "With the time they spent together, it's highly likely he saw these changes coming."

"That's plausible," Stacy said then dropped a bombshell. "I received a package from his attorney today."

Cuddy looked at her. She had some experience with surprise packages from Wilson.

"What was in it?"

"I haven't seen it yet. It arrived at the office while I was flying down here," Stacy replied. "They called to let me know."

"Should be interesting," Cuddy said. "He bought House's things by paying for his funeral, then gave me the key so I could hold onto them for House's mother."

"That explains why his piano was at your place. And why he's still wearing those eclectic, designer t-shirts."

"He gave up a lot for Wilson," Cuddy said. "Everything really. I wanted him to have some familiar things."

"You're good to him, Lisa," Stacy said as they rounded the corner to the physical therapy rooms.

Cuddy just smiled at her and entered the main PT room.

House's back was to them as he worked on walking with a prosthetic. It wasn't fully fitted yet because the swelling of the stump had yet to fully dissipate, which would happen in time. But he was working hard at it, his hands braced on the railings to maintain balance as he took a step with his good leg then with the other. The circles of sweat on his shirt were evidence of that.

Cuddy shook her head when his therapist glanced at her. She didn't want to disturb him. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing. When he stopped about halfway, though, and raised his head and shook it vigorously, Cuddy reconsidered.

Leaving Stacy by the door, Cuddy moved around until she was standing at the end of the railings, in his direct line of sight. His therapist didn't stop her. It had become a regular thing for Cuddy to step in when he tried to stop. She could goad him, in a number of fashions, that would get him to finish the last few steps. Sometimes she thought he did it on purpose, but today, he really was struggling.

"Are you seriously stopping now?" she asked, hand on her hip.

He looked up at her and scowled, but his eyes sparked with something other than exhaustion.

"What do I get if I finish?" he asked, winded.

Cuddy crossed her arms and smiled. "Your choice."

His scowl dissipated into a mischievous expression.

"You'd get naked, here, now?"

"I draw the line at nudity," Cuddy said with a shake of her head, "But I can promise a mind-blowing kiss."

"Hey, buddy, I'd take her up on that," called the guy from the next set of railings over.

House looked over at him. "Hands and eyes off, _dude_," he playfully barked.

"You're the one who wanted to get her naked, here, now," the guy pointed out.

"Good point," House said and looked back to Cuddy. "Kiss, huh? Mind-blowing?"

"Do you want it or not?" Cuddy asked.

"Want it."

Cuddy smiled and watched him take the steps to her. Each one took monumental effort. By the time he reached the end, she thought he might tip over on top of her, but he held tight enough to the railing to keep himself upright.

"Great job, Dr. House," Carla said from behind Cuddy.

"Shut up, woman," he said to his therapist, his eyes never leaving Cuddy.

Reaching up, Cuddy touched his cheek then put her hands on top of his as she raised on her toes. "I believe I owe you a kiss," she said as her mouth neared his.

"Mind-blowing," he reminded her.

"Coming right up," she breathed then touched her lips to his, grazing then capturing the bottom between her own and tugging lightly. He pursued her, as she'd known he would and kissed him in a way she usually only kissed him in private. Slow and soft, with little touches of tongue here and there, leaving him panting when she pulled back.

"Wow," he said, when she lowered.

"You are the luckiest man alive," the other patient said enthusiastically.

House looked down at Cuddy, smiling slightly, his eyes soft with affection.

"Yeah."


	97. Chapter 97

What you've all been waiting to know on the legal front...

* * *

**Part 97**

"No prison?"

Cuddy asked the question. She had helped House clean up and they were now sitting with Stacy in his hospital room.

"That's not clear yet," Stacy answered then looked at House, "But, Greg, you scored some major points in helping that patient."

Cuddy watched him scowl. "I didn't help the patient to score points," he said testily. "She had a puzzle. I solved it."

"I know that," Stacy said, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "And they know that, which is why they've spoken to a family friend with considerably more influence than their own."

"The condition may still kill her," House pointed out. "It can be treated but not cured. A flareup could occur without warning and take her life in an instant."

Cuddy spoke up then. "Don't underestimate the power of just having an answer. Not knowing is almost always more terrifying."

House looked at her. "You sound like Wilson."

"Do you disagree?" Cuddy pressed because she knew he wouldn't be able to argue with her point.

He didn't answer. "So who is this friend?" he asked Stacy.

Stacy smiled. "I can't say, but I can tell you that this is a good thing."

"Where are we in all this?" Cuddy asked.

Stacy met Cuddy's gaze briefly then looked back to House.

"I'm in talks with the district attorney to get what charges I can reduced," Stacy said. "I think I can get the felony vandalism charge dismissed altogether. Those tickets may have had your name on them but there are no prints and there never were."

"Then how…" House's voice trailed off, his expression one of confusion. Cuddy was confused, too. Those charges were the basis of them sending him back to finish out the final months of his sentence.

"They assumed. A fingerprint analysis was never done. Your name was what they went by. You were an ex-con. They didn't look any further. If they had, they'd have found your prints weren't on them," Stacy told them. "My forensics experts told me there was no way prints would have survived the sewage drain-off. Just in case, I had an independent forensics firm do an examination. They found nothing. So, at best, it's hearsay evidence with no actual proof you did anything, unless you choose to incriminate yourself. Which I don't recommend, as your attorney."

Stacy leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her, elbows on her knees.

"Based on that, I think I can get the unlawful flight charge reduced. I'm going to plead exceptional circumstances on the basis of Wilson's situation. The judge has already been receptive to that argument, as has the DA. I argued it heavily to get your conditional release," Stacy continued. "The fact you turned yourself in immediately after Wilson's death was a sign of good faith along with your original intention to serve out the sentence without contest once he had passed. Eric Forman will testify to that."

Cuddy saw House absorb what Stacy was telling him.

"What am I looking at in terms of jail time?"

"As I said, it's unclear right now, but I'm going to do my damnedest to keep you out," Stacy told him. "Your health will play a big factor in that. I'm prepared to sue the city and state for your having suffered an injury while in their custody, and argue that it compounded your existing condition into a life-threatening one. Your medical records back that up, and Robert Chase is prepared to testify. You'll just have to give them the name of who did it."

"Not a good idea if I'm going to spend any time behind bars," House said and Cuddy could remember him telling her something along those lines a couple weeks ago.

Stacy shook her head. "Again, with your current health situation and needs, I'm confident I can keep you out of general population at the very least. There are a few facilities in New Jersey that have units for inmates that require special accommodations, as required by the federal Americans with Disabilities Act. It's where they should have put you the first time, or at least minimum security. You should have never been put into maximum, Greg, which I'm also going to bring up."

"And faking my death?" House asked.

Stacy smiled ruefully. "Believe it or not, there is no crime in faking your death, unless you plan to profit from it, which you didn't. So, at this point, it just makes you a monumental jerk, although I'll personally give you a pass on that one considering why you did it."

House looked to Cuddy when he asked Stacy, "And my medical license?"

Stacy's smile fell away. "I honestly don't know," she said honestly. "I'm still researching that one. If they charge you with falsifying records, the charge would be a felony. It would carry a maximum penalty of five years or a $250,000 fine." Stacy sighed then continued, "That said, what you did wasn't technically falsification as the law defines it. Whatever happens on that front will probably influence the medical board's decision on your license."

Cuddy asked a question. "Is this where influential people will come into play?"

Stacy nodded. "Most likely," she said then looked back to House.

"I'm working on how to help you on this front, Greg," Stacy said. "I know medicine is important to you and I believe, as I know Lisa does, that medicine needs you. What you do is special. A lot of people know that, even if they don't like your bedside manner and want to strangle you for it."

House nodded and Cuddy noted he looked relieved. Cuddy felt relieved.

"Thank you," House told Stacy, who just smiled.

"Just give me a bit more time, Greg. I'm doing the best I can for you."

He nodded again.

"I know."


	98. Chapter 98

**Part 98**

"I went there to die."

The words were spoken softly near Cuddy's ear. Tonight, House was spooned at her back and they had been talking in the hushed atmosphere of the hospital night. It was so different than the bustle of daytime, intimate almost, a shelter for secrets and confessions.

House's confession wasn't a shock. With his state of mind at the time, Wilson's impending death, prison awaiting, if he'd been in a burning building with a dead heroine addict, he'd been there to die with him.

"I know," Cuddy whispered.

He didn't question her response. "Wilson always accused me of being a coward," he continued, "and he was not wrong."

"Wilson was _not wrong_ about a lot of things," Cuddy noted, her hand covering House's, caressing the backs of his fingers.

"Yeah," House sighed. He was quiet a few moments then spoke again, softer still, "I didn't want to watch him die, but I was willing to leave him to die alone."

Cuddy heard the self-loathing in House's voice.

"You didn't want to hurt any more," she told him, understanding the driving force behind his initial decision even if she agreed it was a cowardly way out.

"I'm a selfish man," House concluded. "I didn't deserve his friendship or forgiveness."

Cuddy pulled his arm tighter around her, bringing his hand to nestle between her breasts, hoping to offer him some comfort. Wilson, she knew from his journal, would have wanted that for him, and she thought House deserved it. Whatever his past choices, he'd made the right ones in the end.

"Deserve has little to do with what we get in life," Cuddy told him, matching the softness of his tone. "If it did, children and the kindest of people wouldn't get cancer, or other horrible diseases."

House was quiet again and she knew he was thinking. His next words made her heart break for him.

"Do you think I got what I deserved?"

It was an incredibly open-ended question. Had he deserved what happened to him as a child? No. Had he deserved the infarction that left him a cripple? No. Had he deserved to be kicked to the curb because of one mistake? No. Had he deserved to go to prison for driving his car into her home? Probably, but not the way he did. Had he deserved to lose his best friend? No. Had he deserved to finally lose his leg after years of fighting to keep it? No. Did he deserve forgiveness? Yes. Did he deserve to be happy? Yes. Did he deserve to be loved? Yes, without question.

In the quiet of the room, Cuddy broke it down for him, just as her mind had sifted through it. She addressed what she knew he considered his biggest mistakes and flaws, and his questions about his overall worthiness of something more than pain and misery.

"It's okay to accept forgiveness, House, and it's okay to forgive yourself," she told him at the end, leaving _you need to_ unsaid. She didn't think he was quite ready to accept that yet.

He was silent once more and Cuddy would have thought him asleep if his hand hadn't moved from beneath hers to stroke the line of her throat. She trembled at the gentle touch, and again when he eased his hand down to slip beneath the hem of her shirt.

"House," she whispered when he cupped her left breast. He just shushed her and caressed her gently.

Cuddy closed her eyes and let him. House was a sensual being. He was most comfortable expressing himself sexually with her. It was his language. Actions, not words.

His touch was tender and reverent as he fondled her breasts. His breaths came soft against her cheek as he moved his hand down to slip inside the scrub bottoms. He swept his palm around the curve of her hip, along her thigh and back up to press gently against her sex.

"I miss you," he told her then brought his hand back up to take hers. He laced their fingers and cuddled her closer. "Get some sleep, Cuddy."

"You, too, House," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.


	99. Chapter 99

**Part 99**

"You're not going to become a gym rat, are you?"

Cuddy asked the question as she watched House raise a pair of dumbbells in an exercise designed to work his triceps. He was laying on the cushioned mat in the physical therapy room. It was deserted except for them, yet another middle-of-the-night excursion to combat the feeling of confinement, for both of them.

"Only if there are hot chicks," he said, "and by hot chicks, I mean you."

Cuddy smiled. "Good answer."

Finishing his fifth set, he laid the weights aside, and looked at her. "How's the kid?"

"She's fine. Misses us," Cuddy told him truthfully.

Even though Janice had brought her by a few times during the week, Rachel had been spending most nights with the nanny while Cuddy spent most of her time at the hospital. Still, Cuddy had taken a few nights here and there to go home and spend time with Rachel. On those nights, they slept downstairs in House's bed. It's where Rachel had asked to sleep and where Cuddy had wanted to be. The sheets still smelled of him.

"Janice is bringing her by tomorrow after school," Cuddy said, reaching to lay her hand on his chest. His shirt was damp with sweat. "She's apparently made something for you."

His eyes tracked up to the ceiling. She watched him stare a few moments before he asked, "What does she see in me?"

Cuddy smiled. "I think she sees a lot of things."

He looked at her for an explanation.

"I think she sees the man who makes her mother happy," she told him.

"Do I?" The question exposed his insecurities.

"Yes," Cuddy answered truthfully as she caressed him gently. "I also think she sees the little boy in you and she wants him to be happy."

At that, he looked away again.

"Why?"

"Because children are naturally empathetic," Cuddy said, having seen it blossom in Rachel as she grew. "They want to be happy and want those around them to be happy."

"Do you think I've lost that?"

Cuddy frowned. "The capacity for empathy?"

"I'm not exactly the poster boy for it," House replied.

"I don't think you've lost that," Cuddy answered truthfully. "You care about your patients whether you want anyone else to know it or not. You don't truly wish anyone ill, and we both know that you are more than capable of love. All of those things are the foundation for empathy."

"I don't know if I know what it feels like?"

"That doesn't mean you don't feel it," Cuddy said softly. "When you're here in this room with the others dealing with the same thing you are, do you see their frustration and determination, the despair when it seems too difficult to continue?"

Cuddy paused but he didn't answer — but she hadn't really expected him to. He saw everything.

"That's empathy," she told him. "Do you identify with the things they feel?"

Still no answer, but she knew he was listening.

"That's sympathy," she said then braved, "When Wilson's pain was at its worst, you saw his suffering, you understood it, and then you did something about it when he asked … that was compassion."

His eyes fell shut and Cuddy rubbed his chest again.

"You may have misplaced those things at times," she said softly. "You may have mislabeled and hid them, even tried to ignore them, but you have never lost them."

Cuddy paused and stilled her hand over where his heart lay. Her heart hurt at the memory she was about to bring up.

"You asked me once if I thought you could fix yourself, and I told you I didn't know," she began, prompting him to look at her again. "But that was the wrong question and answer. You don't need to be fixed, House. You need healing."

Seeing him open his mouth to respond, Cuddy cut him off by addressing what she feared he would say next, "And this is _not_ about pity."

Her hand moving from his chest, Cuddy touched his cheek. "This is about loving you, you idiot. It's about looking at you and seeing your pain and wanting to take it away and make it better."

Caressing him, she told him, "You've done that for me… That night, after losing Joy…"

"I had been terrible to you all day," he said.

"But you came to check on me, when no one else did," Cuddy said, unable to help the tears that formed at that particular memory. "You saw my pain and you sought to comfort me."

"I kissed you."

Cuddy smiled gently. "I was feeling like an utter failure as a woman, and you responded based on what you saw in me."

"You looked like you needed to be kissed."

Cuddy nodded, her voice breathy and eyes brimming with tears. "I did."

Brushing her thumb across his mouth, Cuddy whispered, "You did more for me with that kiss than you will ever know."

Smiling, Cuddy moved her hand back to his chest.

"As for Rachel, she is just trying to make that boy feel better, in the only way a five-year-old can comprehend. By making drawings for you, playing games with you, buying you presents, kissing you on the cheek, and telling you she loves you."

He smiled a little. "And you?"

"Well, the man is my area," Cuddy said softly, with a smile. "And I'm pretty much taking the screw-his-brains-out-at-every-opportunity approach. How am I doing so far?"

He covered her hand with his, smiled.

"It's working," he said softly. "But you're doing more than that."

"Yes," she said but didn't elaborate as she unfolded her legs, leaned over him, and ensnared him in a loving kiss.


	100. Chapter 100

For this landmark 100th chapter, I think I found something appropriate ... or rather Cuddy and House made their wishes known. Enjoy!

* * *

**Part 100**

House was coming home.

Nearly a month after the surgery, the orthopedic surgeon had just given him the all-clear to leave the hospital. The stump was healing well. There was some residual swelling and soreness but those were expected to continue dissipating in the coming weeks. He had some pain, but it was markedly less than prior to the surgery.

His physical therapist, Carla, had also given her blessing. His upper body strength had greatly improved and he was getting steadily better with the temporary prosthetic. He was able to walk a fair distance with use of a crutch and could take stairs, a few steps at a time, if he used a railing.

He still had a long way to go toward being completely independent, but his progress was better than his surgeons had originally expected, considering his long-term disability with the leg. He would still be going to therapy daily, riding with Cuddy to work some days, while Carla had agreed to meet him a couple days a week at Cuddy's home.

Rachel was so excited about it that she'd demanded balloons and a cake, which Janice had picked up.

Cuddy had worried about making a big fuss over his homecoming, but his spirits had been downright jovial for House. She knew a big part of it was just being out of the hospital, even if he was still figuratively chained to her side or home. He would at least have privacy again. It made Cuddy wonder how he'd managed six months in prison, but she pushed that thought aside. This was a good day, and she wouldn't spoil it with regrets and recriminations.

When they pulled up in front of her place, House did what he did the first time. He looked out the window and up before reaching for the handle. Cuddy exited and went around to help him.

By the time she reached him, he'd already pivoted on his own in the seat and was wrangling the prosthetic on. Cuddy got the crutch out of the backseat for him. He didn't take it right away, relying instead on the power of his arms and torso to pull himself upright.

When he was finally standing, she handed him the crutch with a smile. "That was impressive."

He stared at the front of her building for a moment. "Be impressed when I make those," he said with a nod to the front steps. He used the crutch to step up on the curb then traverse the distance.

Cuddy followed behind him and took the crutch, which he traded for the stability of the railing. One step at a time, he climbed to the stoop. Cuddy watched him with a pride that was not hers to feel. It was his.

Once on the landing, he reached back for the crutch and she handed it to him as she opened the door. She held it for him so he wouldn't have to wrestle with it. He wasn't quite ready to balance everything yet, but he made it over the threshold, through the entry into the living area…

… where he was immediately greeted by an excited Rachel. She was beaming ear to ear and telling him they had a cake and ice cream and balloons and that she picked out a puzzle for them to do.

House looked a little shellshocked.

Cuddy was fairly certain he'd never been welcomed anywhere with such pure joy. It warmed her heart that Rachel would be that person.

Stepping in, Cuddy urged her daughter to give him some time to get settled first. "Let's give House a minute, sweetheart. He's had a busy morning."

Not deterred in the least, Rachel came straight up to House. She looked up and up at him, just a minute, then carefully hugged his good leg.

House went wide-eyed and looked at Cuddy as if to ask "what do I do?" even as he instinctively and gingerly laid his hand on the top of Rachel's head.

Cuddy just smiled at him and waited for Rachel to move away. Thankfully, she didn't linger long, releasing him just as carefully as she'd hugged him. Then she beamed up at him again and asked, "Do you want some punch?"

"Sure, kid," he replied and Cuddy could tell he didn't know what else to say and feared declining.

Rachel was happy with his answer and took off. "I'll bring it to you."

"We're coming in the kitchen, Rachel, so just keep it there," Cuddy called out.

"Sorry about that," she said told House as she stepped around behind him to help him as he shrugged out of his coat.

Cuddy took it to the entry and hung it, along with hers, beside Rachel's blue one. Their bags were still in the car, but could wait a few minutes while House settled in.

Cuddy was reluctant to leave him alone with Rachel in such an exuberant state. While a careful child, as Cuddy and House had just witnessed, Rachel was still prone to bursts of unexpected physical affection without forethought. Cuddy didn't want House to get blindsided. He was better, but his balance still had a way to go before he could take that on.

Returning to the living area, Cuddy saw that House was slowly trekking toward the kitchen. She followed him and laughed when she saw the cake on the table. It was small and round and _covered_ in candles. It looked like a forest of candles.

"She couldn't decide how many we needed since it wasn't for a birthday," Janice explained as she reached into the freezer and pulled out the ice cream.

"Has she been evaluated for pyromania?" House asked playfully and Cuddy gave him an indulgent smile.

"Honey, why so many candles?" Cuddy asked Rachel, who had brought House a cup of red punch.

"I like candles," she said with a shrug then went to get another cup of punch.

Cuddy laughed softly and took a seat beside House.

"A child's truth," House murmured. "Pure and unaffected."

"Yes," Cuddy said, looking at him. "So is their love."

When Rachel came back, House asked, "Hey, kid, where's my cake? I'm hungry."

"Have to light the candles first," Rachel explained with a note of exasperation, as if he should have known.

Smiling, Cuddy helped her do it and by the time they were done, the cake looked like a ball of fire.

House's expression was daunted, but he braved blowing them out. It took a few tries but Rachel clapped excitedly when he succeeded. She then began carefully taking the candles out one at a time and licking the icing off the base.

"Sanitary," House noted.

"Shut up. She's a kid," Cuddy said, patting his good knee.

They had cake and ice cream and listened to Rachel as she chattered incessantly about this and that.

Cuddy watched House listen and study her. Rachel still fascinated him, even after Cuddy had explained why her daughter welcomed him into their lives without question.

In the middle of her chit-chat, Rachel suddenly stopped and asked if House wanted to put the puzzle together with her. When he agreed, she immediately hopped down from her chair.

"I'll get it," Rachel said and walked out of the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

Cuddy saw House smiling. "She walks like you," he explained when he noted her watching him. "Always going somewhere."

Cuddy smiled and said softly, "I have something to show you."

"What?" he asked.

"Come with me," she said, standing and holding her hand out to him.

He took it once he managed to stand and get his crutch aligned. Cuddy led him over to the newly installed door. She saw him take it in.

"That's new," he said.

"Yes," she answered, released his hand and opened the door.

His eyes looked at what was inside, widened in comprehension.

"Cuddy…" he said softly.

Cuddy leaned against the door while he looked, explained about one of the previous owners having been wheelchair bound and that the elevator had been there all along, just closed off.

"The crews finished putting it back into service last week," she told him. "You'll be able to use the bath upstairs now."

He looked at her and she could see he was overwhelmed and also a bit apprehensive. His eyes were searching hers intently for what this meant.

Cuddy had planned to address his questions after putting Rachel down for the night, but when she came into her bedroom, she found House sitting on the side of her bed, looking lost in thought.

"You okay?" she asked as she shut the door behind her

He just looked up and held his hand out to her. She went to him without hesitation, let him pull her close, between his artificial leg and the flesh-and-blood one. He didn't say a word, just kissed her, soft and slow, hands caressing her face, then sliding down to begin divesting her of her clothes.

She lost herself in the quiet seduction, the feel of his hands moving gently, of dexterous fingers pushing buttons from their holds, skimming over revealed skin once her shirt and bra were gone. They found her nipples and brought them into sharp relief amidst the softness of her breasts. They found the waist of her pants and pushed them down, taking her panties with them. Then they were grazing over the roundness of her ass and drawing her closer still to him.

All the while, his mouth worked against hers, seducing her, stealing her breath and making her heart race and melt all at once. The lushness of his lips moving over hers, loving and hungry and … _him_ … made her want more.

"House," she breathed and was silenced with yet another kiss.

He paused only long enough to ditch the prosthetic and strip off his shirt. Cuddy helped him with his jeans and briefs. She mounted the bed as he pushed himself back on the mattress.

She straddled him and returned to his kiss. She held his face in her hands as he held hers. She felt his body's response under her and reached for him. She caressed the growing length and held it against her sex.

He moaned under her and buried his face in her neck and drew her into his. "Put me in you," he rasped.

Cuddy did, aligning him then sliding back as he shifted under her to meet her hips with his own, securing their connection. She cried out softly at the feel of him inside her, at feeling the heavy shudder that shook his body beneath hers.

Rising over him, Cuddy kissed him tenderly then sat up slowly, letting his hands drift over her body as she ascended.

Hands planted on his chest, Cuddy rode him, hips rocking against his. She could feel the difference in his body but it didn't matter. She didn't care. He was with her, inside her. He was home and his hands were on her.

He caressed her breasts again, the flare of her hips, her ass, then slipped one hand down to play her sex, to give her that little bit more that would send her desire spiraling.

She gasped and arched into his touch. He captured one of her hands in his and their fingers laced automatically.

"Take what you need," he told her, his voice strained with his own desire and need. His eyes were filled with those things and a surfeit of love. It was the latter that took her to the brink. It was the rasped "I love you" that propelled her into bliss.

And he followed her, a deep groan escaping as he erupted inside her.


	101. Chapter 101

**Part 101**

A sated Lisa Cuddy stared up at the high ceiling of her bedroom and smiled.

"And here I'd planned to seduce you as a homecoming present," she said with a throaty laugh.

The man beside her did not laugh, but his fingers tightened on hers. She looked over to see him staring up at the ceiling, too. His expression was serious and his right hand was touching his stump.

"Hurting?" she asked, concerned.

"I needed to know" was his reply.

He wasn't in pain. This was about something else altogether and Cuddy had a feeling she knew what it was.

"What? If I'd turn you away?"

He looked at her then and the accuracy of her question was there in his beautiful eyes.

"I know you've said—" he began but she cut him off.

"Now you know," she said then smiled, "And, in case you're wondering, I want to do it again."

That got a smile out of him.

"Can't get enough?" he whispered.

"Of you, never. You've spoiled me completely," she confessed, adding, "You ruined me for anyone else, House."

Cuddy turned her head to meet his gaze again. "I tried… I honestly had no idea it was possible to be turned off before you were turned on."

There was understanding in his expression, and a strand of amusement.

"Once you go gimp," he teased. It wasn't a new quip from him but it still made her smile.

"Apparently."

Cuddy squeezed his hand again. "Do you want a shower? There's a bench."

"Yeah," he said then asked, "Join me?"

She smiled at him. "Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?"

He grinned. "With you naked and within arm's reach? I don't have _that much_ self-control," he stated, but added devilishly, "Unless you're gonna put on a show. If you do that, I can assure you they'll be busy with something else … if you know what I mean."

It was the exaggerated wink that made her laugh. She sat up slowly and looked back over her shoulder at him.

"I'll go turn the water on to warm," she told him then released his hand.

In the bathroom, she opened the shower and turned on the water. She grabbed a pair of towels and set them close by. House came in a few moments later. She noted he'd left the prosthetic behind and was using just the crutch. He was unsteadier that way, so she made sure she wasn't in the way of any of the railings. He gave her the crutch so he could use the handholds to swing himself into the shower. He sat on the bench with a relieved sigh. He looked around at the installations she'd made for him and thanked her.

"You don't have to thank me," she told him as she stepped into the shower with him.

"Yes, I do," he insisted, catching her hands before she could go further. "For all of it."

Stepping up to him, Cuddy bowed and kissed him gently on the brow, whispered, "You're welcome."

With that, she eased back and under the water, giving him a sultry look before closing her eyes and leaning her head back to wet her hair. He gave out a groan, making her smile.

"Temptress," he accused.

"I thought you wanted a show," she teased when she met his gaze.

He nodded vigorously, eyes full of hopeful lust. He could be endearingly and excitingly predictable.

She gave him one, moving her hands over her body, touching herself boldly but fleetingly. He was rapt the entire time.

A part of Cuddy couldn't believe she was doing it. She had done it for him once before, for about two minutes. That's as long as he'd made it before his need to help out overcame his need to watch. He was at a disadvantage this time so she just had to stay out of reach. She could see it was driving him mad, but she hadn't the heart to torture him further when he held out his arms to her.

She went into them, was embraced and kissed and caressed. Her breasts became his playground, along with the rest of her. With hands and mouth, teeth and tongue, he seemed intent on devouring her. Her pulse raced along with his pace, her body humming with pure pleasure. Then he was moving her away with a one-word command.

"Bed."

Somehow they managed to get out of the shower, dried off and back to the bed safely. There, he took the lead, bringing her to orgasm with his hand before finding his way between her thighs. It was pure instinct that drove him to join their bodies.

He looked at her in wonder when he realized what he'd done. Leg or no leg, his body knew the way to hers.

Cuddy caressed his cheek, smiled up at him. "Now it's time to take what you need."

At her words, his expression dissolved into one of tender openness, lust falling to the wayside in favor of something more fulfilling.

He took her face in his hands kissed her gently as he began rocking his hips against hers. He was tentative at first but she encouraged him with little movements of her own, but ultimately let him find what worked for him, for both of them.

When he grabbed one of the pillows from above her, she stilled and worked with him to position it where he could brace his stump. It gave him more leverage and she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips when the angle changed to one that would be more pleasurable for her.

"Yeah," he smiled then kissed her again. His lips captured hers in leisurely caresses, drifted away then came back again and again, making her heart flutter and rise in her chest.

Cuddy wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. She moved with him, gave herself over to his rhythm.

When he buried his face in her neck with a moan of her name, Cuddy tangled the fingers of her left hand in his hair, while the right smoothed across his back and held to him.

"House," she whispered, tears welling at feeling him tremble with the approach of his orgasm.

When she thought he might try to slow and wait for her, she spoke to him again, giving him the permission he needed to surrender. And he did at hearing the three words rasped in his ear.

"Come in me."


	102. Chapter 102

**Part 102**

Cuddy let House sleep in while she made breakfast for Rachel.

They had nothing planned for the day. It would be his first full day home and she wanted him to have the chance to rest and then to do whatever they decided to do. Ultimately, whatever they chose would entail staying at home. It was snowing out.

Sitting at the kitchen table, feet pulled up into the chair with her, coffee cup in hand, Cuddy was watching the heavy white flakes fall from the sky.

Across the table, Rachel was eating her cereal and fruit. She had a cup of juice beside her, now half-empty.

"Are you glad House is home, mommy?"

The question made Cuddy smile. She looked over at her daughter. "Very much so."

"Me, too," Rachel replied then went back to her breakfast as if the question had never been asked.

Cuddy shook her head. Children were a marvel.

Her gaze drifting back outside, Cuddy's thoughts turned to the man currently upstairs in her bed. Last night had been beautiful, and needed. He'd put to rest some of his fears about his sexual capabilities.

He hadn't voiced them directly since the amputation, just hinted here and there and she'd deduced some of the unsaid. But the degree of his worries had been measurable in the palpable relief he'd exuded at knowing he could still not only perform, but please them both.

Cuddy knew they were going to have to learn some new things, but she wasn't opposed to that, and she knew he wouldn't be either. It would keep things interesting.

Smiling, Cuddy imagined what he would say if she suggested he write a Kama Sutra for amputees. She was sure he'd be off and running with that idea in a split-second, sexual innuendoes flying out of his mouth as fast as his brain could formulate them. She was positive he'd make an argument for a video version.

Hearing the lift initiate, Cuddy looked up. It was a silly thing to do, but reflexive. Her eyes met his once the car settled. She smiled, seeing his hair was a mess. He looked rested, his eyes bright, but like he would probably fall back asleep if he crawled under the covers again. He was wearing the t-shirt and pajama pants he'd worn to bed last night.

"Good morning," she said softly.

"Morning, House," Rachel echoed, looking over at him.

"Good morning, Cuddys," he responded as he opened the gate on the lift.

"Want coffee?" Cuddy asked him.

At his nod, she set her mug on the table and rose. She paused long enough to give him a quick kiss on the mouth before going to the coffeemaker and fixing him a cup. She took it over to the table, where he'd settled, and asked him if he wanted breakfast.

"Whatcha got?" he asked, reminding her that even though she'd spent the majority of the last few weeks with him, it'd been a while since he'd been here.

Cuddy doubted he'd forgotten what she kept for him, but probably wondered if anyone had shopped with him in mind while he was away. They had.

"Your usual carnivore choices," Cuddy told him.

"Eggs and bacon it is," he said and started to rise.

Cuddy thought about stopping him and fixing it for him, but didn't know if she should. If he wanted to do it and could do it, she didn't want to make him feel he was being treated as incapable. But if he would like or needed her to do it, she would gladly do so. It was a weird sort of limbo and she realized they needed to talk about it.

Once he was up again, she looked at him and knew that he saw the certainty in her.

"I've got it," he said and she let him pass.

Retaking her seat at the table, Cuddy picked up her coffee and watched him. The refrigerator was far enough away from the stove to make it awkward for him to manage bringing over the food packages, but he did it, and found the skillet he would need.

As he went about the mundane tasks, she recognized that his years with the cane had partially prepared him for the adjustments he was having to make. She suspected nothing would hold him back once he had his permanent prosthetic. The therapy between now and then would all but ensure it.

Cuddy's gaze went to her daughter when she suddenly left the table. She hadn't finished her breakfast yet but hadn't asked to be excused. Cuddy wondered why, since that was the usual way of things. Then Rachel started pushing her chair across the room, loudly.

House glanced back over at her with a scowl, and Cuddy cringed at the sound. But Rachel kept going until she had the chair against the cabinets beside House and was climbing into it.

That's when Cuddy realized what her daughter was doing. She smiled watching Rachel open the upper cabinet and pull out a plate. She set it on the counter for House, shut the cabinet, climbed down and then pushed the chair back to the table. Just as loudly.

Seeing House's reaction to the entire thing had Cuddy covering her mouth with her hands, to hide her smile and to stifle a laugh. He had pivoted and watched Rachel the whole way back, his expression one of genuine bafflement.

"Thanks, kid," he said once Rachel was sitting back at the table.

"You're welcome," she said then went back to eating.


	103. Chapter 103

**Part 103**

It was strange how snowfall made the world seem quieter. Even in a city accustomed to seeing the white stuff during the winter months, there was a hush that wasn't present at any other time.

It lent a dreamy quality to the day and lulled Cuddy into a peace she hadn't felt in years, if ever.

On the couch, Cuddy dozed in and out, her head on House's shoulder as he watched some football game. He had the volume down low but she could still hear the announcers and game sounds from time to time.

Every now and then, she would open her eyes long enough to check on Rachel. Her daughter had been playing with a number of toys throughout the afternoon. Currently, she was coloring and talking to herself.

Tilting her head, Cuddy looked at House and saw him not watching the game, but Rachel. She wondered what he was thinking when he shared his thoughts, speaking low so he wouldn't disturb Rachel.

"I don't remember that."

"Coloring?"

He shook his head. "Contentment. No worries or fear."

Cuddy didn't know what to say, so she just cuddled closer to him. That's when he spoke again, his words touching her heart.

"You're a good mother, Cuddy," he said and kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you," she said softly and felt him lean his head against hers.

They were still a while and Cuddy started to doze again when House shifted.

"I need to move around," he told her.

Cuddy sat up beside him and watched him heft himself up from the couch. He had a couple false starts, falling back to the cushions as he struggled to apply his weight just right in the prosthetic. Once he was up, though, he was up and taking the crutch in hand. It wasn't as stylish as his canes, but he used it in a similar fashion as he side-stepped around the coffee table and wandered around the room then back toward the kitchen.

Rachel paid no attention to him or anything, just continued happily coloring away. As she looked at her daughter, Cuddy realized that even she'd had the luxury of playing in contentment at that age. It wasn't until she'd gotten old enough to begin formulating plans for the future, academically and career wise, that things changed between her and her mother.

But House…

When he didn't come back from the kitchen after several minutes and she didn't hear him rummaging around, Cuddy rose and moved to join him. She paused along the way, just long enough to kiss the top of Rachel's head.

Cuddy found him staring out the back window. He was leaned against the wall, a tumbler of scotch in one hand. Folding her arms across her chest, Cuddy moved up to stand beside him, looked out at the blanket of white covering her patio.

"It's beautiful," he said softly.

Cuddy agreed. "Mmm-hmm."

"Does she like to play in it?"

_Rachel. _

"Yes. Once she goes out, I can't get her back in," Cuddy said with a smile. "She'd stay out there until she's frozen solid, if I'd let her."

He took a sip of the scotch.

"Does she want to go out today?"

It was an interesting question coming from House, so she looked at him when she answered.

"She hasn't asked … yet."

His eyes were still on the snow.

"Will you let her if she does?"

"Yes," Cuddy replied, not sure why it was important to him, but it clearly was.

"Good."

Cuddy turned and placed her back to the window, leaned back against the glass, thankful it was dual-paned. House looked at her when she did.

"She confounds you, doesn't she?"

His gaze sought out his glass and the golden-brown liquid it contained.

"I don't recognize her," he said softly. "Messed up kids…"

"She's not a perfect child," Cuddy said, laying a hand on his arm. "She's just … Rachel."

"With a mother who will protect her with every last breath she possesses."

The observation made Cuddy tremble. She was touched that he saw that, but she also saw his pain. He couldn't claim the same of his own mother — not with any certainty.

His eyes moved back to the snowy landscape of her yard and he took a deep swallow of the scotch before adding, "And no bastard of a father to treat her with indifference or cruelty."

It wasn't self-pity she heard. It was something else.

"Are you afraid you'll hurt her?"

He looked at Cuddy in surprise. Not because of the question but that she'd guessed what he was thinking. Then his gaze shifted and she saw in him the same thing she'd seen in him that night after losing Joy. The confusion about himself and the things he did.

"I don't know," he answered now, just as he had then, and it was a brutally honest response. "I don't want to," he said on the next breath.

Cuddy caressed his arm. "I know."

He looked down at her hand.

"I don't know how to be around her," he confessed, adding, "I'm the ill-equipped, R-rated uncle that no one asks to babysit for fear he'll accidentally put their kid in the blender or fail to realize he shouldn't take them to a topless bar."

Cuddy smiled in spite of the seriousness of the conversation. "You babysat her. She always came away unscathed, even through the dime incident."

The mention of the dime drew a smile out of him.

"Unless you count that questionable cartoon," Cuddy continued, hoping to draw him further from the darker thoughts. She knew she hadn't succeeded when he next spoke.

"I can play games with her," he said, his smile disappearing. "But what am I beyond a playmate?"

_I'm not her father. _He might as well have shouted it from the rooftops. He knew what he wasn't. He just didn't know what he was.

"Do you want to be something more?"

He continued looking outside, uncertainty radiating off him.

"Aren't I _supposed_ to be more?" he asked. "She may see the boy, but I'm a grown man. I share a bed with her mother. I _love_ her mother. I'm here in _her_ home and she questions nothing about my presence. She just … _accepts_."

Confusion. Yearning. Doubt. Cuddy heard all those things in his words and the tone of his voice. She saw them move across his face and settle in his eyes when he looked at her.

"Do you love her?"

That question drew an incredulous look. It held the beginnings of tears.

"She's your child, Cuddy. How could I not?"

Reaching, Cuddy brushed the backs of her fingers along his cheek.

"Then just let yourself love her," she said softly. "It's all she will ever need from you, no matter what she sees you as. No matter what role you want or choose to take in her life."

House looked at her for a moment, eyes searching hers.

"What do you want me to be to her?"

That was a question she could not answer in the way he might want. She could tell him the growing desire of her heart but he needed to choose that for himself, when and if he was ever ready. It would be unfair to put any expectations on him in this. Just the possibility of failing to meet them would paralyze him. She'd learned her lesson with that and she would not do it to him again.

Shaking her head, Cuddy caressed him again. "I can't lead you down any path that is not of your choosing," she spoke low and gentle. "This is your choice. You get to define what you are to her. And, if you'll let her, she'll help you find what makes you both happy."


	104. Chapter 104

**Part 104**

After putting in a new load of laundry and folding the dry clothes, Cuddy returned to the living room to find House asleep in his bed, which still occupied her dining room.

He was lying flat on his back, prosthetic off and leaned against the wall while his long, lean frame was sprawled haphazardly across the mattress. One arm was bent, his hand resting on his stomach. The other was stretched out across the pillows.

But he wasn't alone in the big bed.

Cuddy smiled seeing that Rachel had laid down with him. She was snuggled against his side, back to him with her head resting on his upper arm. She wasn't asleep, though, was just laying there playing with a puzzle they'd found in a box of his things from the storage unit.

Cuddy recalled when the blocks with colorful squares on the sides were all the rage. House's had caught Rachel's eye when they'd been been looking for his guitar picks. Seeing her interest, he'd handed the cube puzzle to her and now she was studying it intently, and quietly.

Rachel waved at Cuddy when she saw her. Placing her finger against her lips, Cuddy encouraged her daughter to be quiet so she wouldn't wake House.

Their earlier conversation had left him exhausted. Talking about his feelings was not something that came naturally for him — at least not in a healthy manner. In the past, he usually had to reach boiling point before he would talk and then everything would come out at once, in an explosion of cutting words and obvious distress.

Today, though, he'd just talked. The distress had still been there, but he'd been subdued despite the conversation having been in the making over the last month. That was major progress for him. So was his willingness to openly admit his love for Rachel.

It was clear he'd never thought of himself as a father or father figure, and had never expected to play that role, or anything close to it, in the life of any child. And yet he was apparently feeling the need to be something more in her daughter's life.

Where he was timid and afraid of it, Cuddy was actually glad and welcomed it. There was a time when the thought would have frightened the hell out of her and he'd said it himself out of the gate: That he was an insane choice for someone with a child. He'd pointed out that no one in their right mind would have wanted their child exposed to his irascible demeanor, acerbic tongue, general hedonist interests, and negative outlook on life.

But he'd sold himself short on that front, as had Cuddy. He'd been different around Rachel. Maybe not outwardly affectionate or doting, but he'd reined in the other stuff and endured the times when he wasn't sure of himself or comfortable with a given situation.

For a man who had argued for years that people didn't change, House had changed. He'd changed then and was a dramatically different man now. That he was even thinking about taking on a more adult role in Rachel's life…

Cuddy admitted that House was and would always be an interesting choice, regardless of what his role evolved into. He was an uncommon man, which made their relationship uncommon, which Cuddy expected would make his relationship with Rachel uncommon.

At the moment, he was Rachel's snuggle buddy, whether he was aware of it or not.

There was something beautiful and sweet about the tableau of a wounded man sleeping peacefully beside an innocent child.

Cuddy wondered if he really knew how much he needed what both she and Rachel had to give. She wondered if he knew what he gave them by just being here. She doubted he did.

His love was such a subtle thing for an intense man. But it was there, stronger than anyone would guess and steadier than she'd thought. It sprang from the deeply hurt part of him and longed to be worthy of acceptance, while the man himself ached to be worthy of being loved in kind.

He was worthy. His love was worthy. If she could communicate nothing else to him, she would have him know and accept that.

"I can hear you thinking."

The mumbled question made Cuddy smile. "You can't use that pain-in-the-leg excuse any more," she teased and watched him smile. It was a lazy expression.

"Get over here, woman," he said then turned his head and looked at Rachel. "Move over, bilge rat."

Rachel did, but closer to him. Cuddy laughed when he frowned. That clearly wasn't what he'd meant.

"It's okay," Cuddy said and crawled onto the bed with them. She stretched out beside Rachel, laying her head on in the bend of his elbow while reaching across her daughter to cover his hand.

Rachel immediately dropped the toy and threw her arm across his neck.

"Besieged by Cuddys," he grumbled but looked over at Cuddy.

Happiness. Cuddy saw happiness, and it filled her heart with joy.


	105. Chapter 105

**Part 105**

Tucked against House's right side, Cuddy was gently massaging his stump.

He was sore after the time spent wearing the prosthetic during the day and she was hoping to allay the discomfort. His physical therapist had stressed that gradual desensitization of the skin was important to prepare it for long-term use of an artificial limb. He had started the process after cleaning the area and drying it fully, but she'd taken over after she dressed for bed.

As she gentled her touch further, turing it more into a loving caress than therapeutic necessity, he asked a playful question.

"I'm not going to find you looking around on the internet for amputee fetish porn, am I?"

Cuddy smiled. _Only House_.

"Why am I not surprised you know that exists?"

"My knowledge of internet porn is vast," he said sarcastically, then added with due seriousness, "But it's about all you'll find when doing a search on 'sex with an amputee'."

Cuddy stilled her hand on his thigh.

"You were looking up tips?"

"Sue me. I'm new to this and I wanted to make you moan in ecstasy … and enjoy it myself," he said in reply.

The answer didn't surprise Cuddy. He was a generous and dedicated lover.

"So you didn't find anything?" she asked with a healthy amount of selfish curiosity.

"Nothing of use," he sighed in what sounded a lot like disappointment.

That's when Cuddy decided to suggest what she'd thought about this morning, and simultaneously braced herself for the inevitable barrage of House.

"Maybe you should write a Kama Sutra specifically for amputees."

"You know," he began. "I'm the one in this relationship considered a genius, but you might be a genius' genius."

Cuddy smiled and waited for the second volley. It went exactly the direction she'd predicted.

"Naturally, to be taken seriously, it would have to be illustrated. Drawings and photos. _Definitely_ photos," he said. "And there _has _to be an accompanying instructional video. Hi-def would be best, for obvious reasons. There'd have to be more than one, too. _No way_ just one will do the job."

"And you'll need a _really_ hot couple," Cuddy interjected, bringing him to a screeching halt — for all of five seconds.

"You auditioning?"

"Are you?"

"Cuddy, I'm the star," he said in mock offense.

_There is nothing wrong with his ego_.

"Then there had better not be any auditioning going on," she countered.

"What're your feelings on rehearsals?"

"No problem with those."

"For the camera? I need to figure out lighting and angles and all that other film-y stuff. Don't want it to look amateurish. I have a reputation to uphold."

Cuddy laughed. "You have no reputation at all in the film industry."

"I could have," he asserted. "There's apparently a market for amputee fetish porn."

Cuddy groaned. She should have anticipated that, but she hadn't.

"Oh my god. You are completely insane."

He just grinned at her when she looked up at him.

"That should not come as such a shock," he told her.

"I know," she conceded with a smile then resettled. She slid her hand up and down what remained of his thigh, noted, "It's actually not a bad idea. The book."

"No, it's not," he admitted, his tone matching hers then softening, "I would buy a copy."

Cuddy looked up at him again and saw that he was serious.

"Are you worried?" she asked. "Because your instincts for sex are great."

He met her gaze. "I can't always think when I'm with you."

Cuddy smiled. "That's rather a turn on, House."

She could tell he liked hearing that but he had more he wanted to say.

"I want it to be… good."

It had been painful for him say the words aloud. She could see it. Last night had squelched some concerns for him, but this wasn't about his ability to perform so much as the mechanics.

Giving him a smile, Cuddy said softly, "I'm open to experimentation."

He smiled just a little. "I may need lots of practice."

"Okay," she said, her smile gentling when she added, "We'll find what works … and what doesn't."

When he nodded, Cuddy glided her hand up to his chest and smiled brightly.

"Now, tell me more about your ideas for the book."


	106. Chapter 106

**Part 106**

She shouldn't have encouraged him. But she'd done it anyway and now she was watching him set up a tripod and video camera.

"I swear to God, House, if this gets out, I'll kill you in your sleep."

"Funny, I would think you'd have a public execution in mind, if this were to _go_ _public_, which it wouldn't, unless by accident."

If he wasn't precariously balanced on his prosthetic, Cuddy would have thrown a pillow at him — and the tripod.

"I mean it, House," she warned.

His teasing demeanor dissipated when he looked at her. "If you think I want anyone else seeing you like that, you're the one who's insane."

"Yes, I am. Probably certifiably," she agreed, groaning, "I can't believe I agreed to this."

When he tossed her the small remote for the camera, she considered throwing it out the window and into the snow but she knew it wouldn't deter him. He'd just press the record button before coming back to the bed.

"Relax, Cuddy," he told her as he ambled his way back to the bed. "I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm not worried about that part," she said as he sat beside her and took off the artificial limb. "It's the recording it for posterity that is just…"

She laid back and pulled the pillow over her face. The action was one of a sixteen-year-old but her cheeks were beginning to burn with embarrassment.

"This is a nightmare." Her voice was muffled.

"Nightmare would be if your mother showed up," House said.

"Oh God, don't even joke about that," she said, clutching the pillow tighter to her face.

She heard him set the remote on the nightstand, the click almost deafening to her ears. Her anxiety was out the roof.

"Hey," he coaxed as he tugged gently at the pillow. "Come out here."

She let him slowly pull the pillow away but she kept her hands on it … just in case.

He was looking at her not in concern, but … something.

"Do you know why I want to do this?"

She would have thought the answer obvious, but apparently it wasn't — or at least it didn't seem to what she thought.

She tested the waters. "Prurient interest."

He didn't smile. Not even a little bit.

Intrigued, she asked, "Why?"

He released the pillow, touched her hand and gently eased his fingers under hers. His eyes held hers intently as he successfully freed them from the pillow. He did the same with her other hand then pulled the pillow away, dragging it across her bare breasts, making her breath catch.

"I want to see all of you … what you look like when I make love to you."

His voice was low and deep, and it reached down inside her and did things that would be considered scandalous if her heart wasn't in the process of actively engaging in the moment.

"House…"

"Trust me."

Those two words… He'd just guaranteed she wouldn't deny him this.

"Okay."

Her assent was barely audible even to her own ears. But she was having trouble hearing anything over the rapid thumping of her heart.

Cuddy watched him lay crosswise on the bed, body perpendicular to hers, then gave a soft gasp when he gently grasped her ankle and slowly dragged her down, until his head was between her thighs.

He shushed her then, laying his head on her inner thigh then proceeding to delight her with leisurely licks and deft excursions of his tongue into her sex.

"Oh God, House," she whispered, grasped his head and pulled him closer, thoughts of the camera gone when she realized the remote was on the nightstand, out of his reach.

Closing her eyes, she let him guide her on a sensual journey that culminated in a powerful orgasm. Then he was moving up beside her and using his fingers to take her there again, caressing, probing, curling and thrusting while he looked down at her.

She didn't look away from him, couldn't look away, not until the sheer need to shut her eyes overpowered her in concert with the climax that embraced her.

He did not wait for her to come down before he was maneuvering his body over hers. She wrapped her arms around him when he kissed her, clutched at him when he nibbled his way along her jaw and down her throat to find her breasts.

He suckled her slow and deep, coiling need tight inside her. The need for him.

"House," she pleaded and felt his arm slide beneath her leg and hook it over his elbow. Then he was holding her hip firmly and using her to leverage himself into position. Then he was penetrating her, maddeningly slow.

His mouth found hers again and she dissolved under his kiss. The deliberate taking was almost more than she could handle. She cleaved tightly to him as he rocked their bodies together, struggled to keep her breath between the glorious caresses of his lips to hers.

Her desire was outpacing him and she felt it. He had too much control and she didn't want him to have it. She wanted him to just … God … let go. She was burning up from the inside out.

"Please," she implored, the words spoken into his mouth.

He drew back and look at her again then and she thought she would die from the expression of love on his face. It was seamlessly blended with desire, and a singular intent. He wasn't going to give her what she wanted. Not yet. Not just yet.

"Let me give you this," he whispered, assuring her, "I won't be far behind."

She nodded and just held on, continuing to hold his gaze as he kept that maddeningly deliberate pacing. It was too much, just too much. That look. He was looking into her and she just couldn't…

She cried softly at the crest and lost track of everything but the earnest movement of her lover inside her as she came. He was there, taking what he wanted now, and she let him take. Whatever he wanted. Until his own body seized in a rictus of ecstasy with a deep groan of her name.


	107. Chapter 107

**Part 107**

"Oh my God."

Cuddy whispered the words as she leaned back against House's chest and watched the small screen on the camera. She thought it had been off. But it hadn't been. He'd recorded it all.

From the gentle seduction that garnered her final assent to the their successive orgasms, and every moment in between, he'd caught it all and now she was watching it with him.

"You're beautiful when you come," he whispered to her and she trembled.

_All_ of it was beautiful.

Cuddy hadn't expected that. She'd thought… She hadn't expected _this_. The singular beauty of them together made her want to cry. She did cry, big silent tears.

"House," she breathed and was held closer in response.

He shushed her softly, whispered, "This is what I wanted to see. You. With me."

His voice softened further with the last two words, prompting her to clutch tight at the arm he had around her.

"We're beautiful," she told him.

He pressed his cheek to hers when he nodded. Neither of them said another word, just watched to the end. Then she watched him cycle through the menus on the camera to delete the file, reciprocating her trust.

Before he could press the button that one last time, though, Cuddy found herself touching his hand to stop him. She hadn't wanted to do this, not really, even though she'd agreed to it, but now that it was done and she'd seen it…

Cuddy was torn, yet something else she hadn't expected to feel.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She shook her head. She was not okay. She was devastated. Her illusions and delusions of them together had been shattered and reformed into something she hadn't even considered.

Not really.

Sex was sex. Lovemaking was lovemaking. This had been those things and something more. It's the more that held her at the cusp of indecision.

"Deleting it doesn't mean it didn't happen," he said softly near her ear. "And it doesn't change it."

"I know," she breathed. Logically, she knew. The rest of her…

"I didn't expect that," she confessed.

"I know."

He moved his finger away from the button then backed out of the menu and replayed the video for her.

"There is nothing prurient in this," he spoke softly and she listened. "It arouses the heart."

Cuddy felt that, hers fluttering once more in her breast.

"Did you feel that?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Even after you started recording?"

"I touched you," he whispered. "I stopped thinking."

On the small screen, Cuddy saw his disconnect from everything but her.

"You'd forgotten?"

He shook his head. "It didn't matter. You did."

Cuddy didn't know what to say so she just watched the video to its end. When it finished, House again scrolled through the menus then moved his finger away from the button, leaving the delete option highlighted.

"Up to you," he said softly.

She turned her head toward him and he moved so he could meet her gaze. She let her eyes graze over the features of his face. They were soft with affection and filled with a wisdom and understanding she was just truly beginning to comprehend.

"Kiss me," she whispered and he did.

It was beautiful, too.

Cuddy pressed the button on the camera, dropped it to the bed, then lost herself in him.


	108. Chapter 108

Apologies for not posting yesterday, but here's a little something to enjoy...

* * *

**Part 108**

Snow continued to fall through the night.

Sitting in the window bench in her bedroom, Cuddy watched the flakes drift downward to join the white blanket already on the ground. It glowed even without a direct light source. The hush still prevailed, only quieter now.

Cuddy leaned her head against the window frame. She should go back to bed. House was there. It was certain to be warmer under the covers with him than where she was, wrapped in only a throw blanket. But she couldn't stop thinking about earlier.

What she had thought would be an exercise in sexual awkwardness or House's version of _Cuddy_ porn had, in fact, been neither of those things. It had taught her something about the man who shared her bed, who she welcomed into her body.

As much as House gloried in using wildly inappropriate sexual innuendo designed to shock and engage her, he also saw what they shared in the act itself as something beautiful. And he'd wanted to see them through more than just his perspective and what he knew from her response to him. Those things were beautiful in their own right, but he'd wanted to see them from the outside, too.

Though she'd been tentative at first, Cuddy had not a single regret for participating. The fact she'd been somewhat in the dark about the actual recording had allowed her to respond honestly to and with him. To completely trust him.

Cuddy closed her eyes as the memories of their intimacy washed over her, followed by those of seeing it played back on the camera's small screen.

Beautiful. Unapologetically beautiful.

"Hey."

Looking over to the bed, Cuddy saw House awake and watching her.

She smiled at him then rose and went to him. At the bedside, she dropped the throw blanket to reveal her nude form. He held up the bedding in response and she crawled beneath and lay against his side. He kissed the top of her head as she settled it on his shoulder.

"Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "Just thinking."

"About earlier?"

She nodded then whispered sincerely, "Thank you."

He hugged her closer to him when he returned the sentiment. Cuddy ran her hand across his chest, beneath the covers, and whispered the words foremost in her mind.

"I'm glad you're back in my life, House."

He took a deep breath but it came out as a sigh on exhale, and carried more than a hint of disappointment. In himself.

"I've been nothing but trouble, Cuddy."

"Please don't," Cuddy said softly, her hand curling around his waist and hugging him. She didn't want him to start down the path of self-denigration. "I am with you because I want to be, not out of obligation or pity. You should know that by now."

"I know but—"

"You're not a burden," Cuddy anticipated.

"I've taken you away from your job and your daughter."

Cuddy sighed. "You're an idiot," she told him then slowly pushed up on her elbow and looked down at him. "Do I look like I'm worried about a damned job? Does Rachel look neglected to you? Does she act like you've done something horrible to her, or me? Do we seem unhappy to have you here?"

He just looked at her but she knew he couldn't answer any of the questions with a "yes."

"Do you know why, House?" Cuddy asked.

"Because you love me," he replied, but it sounded almost like a question. That made Cuddy's heart hurt. Still so much uncertainty about his worthiness. She really hated John House.

"Yes, because we love you_,_" she said emphatically, stressing again, "_We love you_."

Sliding her hand up, Cuddy cupped his jaw, addressed her part in his insecurities. She could not lay all his mistrust of affection on his father, much as she'd like to.

"I made the mistake of not trusting that love once," she said softly, "and it took all of us down a painful road. I won't do that again. We have to trust it, House. We have to put all our faith in it to weather whatever life can throw at it."

"It's been through a hell of a lot."

Cuddy smiled. "And still it stands."

"Wilson knew." It was said so quietly.

Cuddy nodded, their friend's journal had told her as much.

"Yes, he knew. He always knew, even when we didn't."

Drawing her fingers through House's graying and thinning hair, Cuddy whispered, "You're the piece of the puzzle that we've been missing around here, Rachel and I."

He smiled a little. "I am the puzzle solver."

"Yes," Cuddy smiled, "and you solved our puzzle just by showing up … you're_ that _good."

That praise got a brighter smile out of him but his next words were serious.

"I'm trusting you."

_With my heart. _He didn't say those words but they were there in the air between them. They'd come so far since their days in Princeton, since their reunion in Scranton, and yet the old insecurities and questions still lingered.

If only one declaration of love could fix a lifetime of pain, suffering, mistakes, bad choices, guilt and doubt… But there was merit in positive reinforcement.

"Yes," Cuddy said softly, bowed and touched her lips to his, whispering, "and I'm trusting you."


	109. Chapter 109

**Part 109**

Cuddy loved lazy Sunday mornings. And she was loving this one in particular.

House's sense of humor had infected her over the years. It was the only thing that explained her amusement at knowing scores of Protestants were at this moment on bended knees in pews and before altars confessing sins, while she was on her knees, before an atheist, about to commit one — at least according to them.

She shared her thoughts with House, looking up at him as he sat in the window bench seat she'd perched in for a while in the night. Of course he smiled at the observation and couldn't resist the urge to throw in his own two cents.

"I personally ascribe to the Cult of House's view on sex: Heaven is only to be found in The Cuddy. Her mouth is but one path to glory."

"God, House," Cuddy groaned. "That was beyond terrible."

"Mood-killer?" he asked.

"Close," she said. It would have been if she hadn't come to expect him to say things like that. "You could help restore order," she said, as she rose up on her knees and planted her hands on either side of his hips. She looked at him expectantly, tipping her head up.

Her lover took the hint and kissed her, smiling even as his mouth met hers. The kiss began soft and sweet then dissolved into something sleek and sultry. It made her want to strip off her nightshirt, yank the blanket back from around his shoulders and straddle him. But this morning was for him. So she eased her mouth from his and parted the blanket enough to kiss her way down his throat to his chest and lower.

Cuddy stroked him gently with both hands and watched his eyes close in pleasure. She danced her fingertips around the crown and felt him shudder. She bowed then and took him into her mouth, kissing softly, taking more of him with each suctioning caress of her lips. His hands sank into her hair and followed the slow and steady rise and fall of her head over him, until the urgency came. Then, he released her and let her take full control, trusting her with his pleasure.

Eyes closed, Cuddy concentrated on bringing him just that, increasing her pace and letting him hear her enjoyment in doing this for him. Her hungry hums always made him call her name. And he did just now, telling her he was there, right there. She took him the rest of the way, thrilling at feeling his body surrender, at hearing the deep, ecstasy-laced moan erupt from him.

She released him when he sagged back, watched him take a few shuddering breaths before he looked at her again.

"Anyone who thinks that's a sin has not had it done correctly," he said, breathless but smiling.

Cuddy laughed. "You sure seem to enjoy it."

"Enjoy? There's gotta be a better word for it than that," he countered.

Cuddy started to respond, but a knock at the bedroom door drew her attention.

_Rachel._

"She's up early," Cuddy noted as House pulled the blanket around him, concealing his state of undress.

Rising, Cuddy made sure House's t-shirt suitably concealed her as well. It was long enough; she just needed to make sure it was appropriately arranged. Once it was, she went over to the door. She opened it only partway, not wanting Rachel to just burst in.

Soon as the door opened, Rachel held out the cordless phone from downstairs. "Nana said she wants to talk to you."

Fear slammed into Cuddy like a freight train. Her mother was on the phone. Had been talking to Rachel. And now things were about to go to hell in a hand-basket because there was no way Rachel hadn't mentioned House.

Not wanting to let onto her discomfort, Cuddy took the phone from Rachel. "What are you doing downstairs?"

"Making breakfast," Rachel said innocently. Bless her, she had no idea what can of worms had just been opened.

"Okay, I'll be right down," Cuddy told her. "Just don't turn anything on, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said then wandered off, fingers trailing along the bannister.

Shutting the door behind her, Cuddy looked to House. He looked… she didn't know how to describe it. He wasn't delighted, that much she could tell. They hadn't really talked about how to deal with her family's inevitable discovery of his above-ground status. They didn't have time to talk about it right now, either.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy braced herself.

"Hello, mom."

_"Lisa, why is my granddaughter making breakfast for that dead _shlub_ and talking like he lives with you?"_

_Shlub._ That's what her mother had started referring to House as after … everything.

_This is just great, _Cuddy groaned inwardly but an idea came to her when she looked over at House. He had moved from the bench seat to the bed.

"Yeah, mom, House is here," Cuddy said on a sigh injected with what she hoped was just the right amount of sarcasm, taking a page from House's book of tricks.

"In fact, he's in my bed right now, naked. Well, almost naked," she said, her eyes falling on the blanket around his shoulders.

House was looking at her in amazement as she continued to borrow from his shock-and-awe repertoire

"I just gave him a blowjob," Cuddy elaborated, paused a half-second then took things to a new level, "Oh yeah, and last night, we made a sex tape."

_"_Oi,_ Lisa. I'm just worried about my granddaughter."_

Hearing her mother's exasperation, Cuddy felt a wash of relief but tried to corral it. Her mother wasn't stupid. The sarcasm could backfire.

Hoping to keep things together a little longer, Cuddy took a deep breath and consoled her mother. "I know, Mom. I'll talk to her. But right now, I need to make sure the kitchen's still intact."

Her mother sighed on the other end of the line. _"Okay, but call me back later." _

"Okay," Cuddy agreed even thought it was the _last_ thing she wanted to do.

Her mother ended the call and Cuddy threw the phone on the bed and took a deep breath.

House was grinning at her.

"She didn't believe you," he said.

Cuddy shook her head and began to smile herself.

"No."


	110. Chapter 110

**Part 110**

"You've been getting away with that for years."

Cuddy said it as she set a full cup of tea in front of House. He was seated at the end of the table, she at his left with Rachel on the right. It had become their places in the last week.

"Getting away with what?" he asked.

"Telling the truth, but steeping it so thoroughly in sarcasm that no one believes you," she said as she lifted her cup and blew gently to help cool the liquid.

He flashed her a smile. "You bought it."

"Yes, I did," she said. "I should have paid more attention."

House glanced at Rachel, who was pushing Cheerios onto her spoon, before stating the obvious.

"You know she's going to figure it out. Some of the things you said…"

"I know," Cuddy cringed. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but once her mother had time to think about it, she was going to know. Only House would have gone _that_ far. The only hope they had was that he was "dead" but even then, an internet inquiry or search of police records would turn up the truth. Either her mother could and would do with ease.

"I'll talk to her," House said then and Cuddy shook her head.

"No, I need to do this," Cuddy said. "Things did improve for the better between us after you forced me to stand up to her. She won't like what I have to say, but she will listen."

"And your sister?"

Cuddy shrugged. She honestly didn't know about Julia. She'd been distant the last couple of years, not that they'd ever been really close. They crossed paths mainly on holidays and at family events. Cuddy's refusal to outright "hate" House at her insistence was a big part of the issue. But it's impossible to command someone to feel something they can't feel.

"No matter what they think, they're both just going to have to deal with it," Cuddy said, her gaze falling on her daughter. "I've made my choice, House. This is what I want, and what I will protect."

"And if they choose otherwise."

"It would break my heart," Cuddy confessed honestly. "But we will deal with it."

"Cuddy—"

She knew what he was going to say, so she cut him off, and let him in on something she'd been noticing in herself.

"Shut up. This is growth for me … not trying to control everything, even the impossible."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but she saw the distinct glint of approval and understanding in his blue eyes. She just smiled at him and looked at Rachel again.

"Besides, family isn't always about blood," she said softly. "Some of the strongest bonds are those that we chose."

Though she'd meant her daughter and House when she'd said the words, she also found herself thinking of Wilson, too.

If there was ever anyone who'd been chosen, it had been James Wilson. And Greg House did not make such choices lightly. Their bond had ultimately defined them and given House the strength to do what was needed when the time was right.

Cuddy looked over to House again. He looked as though he might have thought of Wilson, too. His gaze was on the tea, a distinct sadness about him.

Reaching, Cuddy covered his hand with hers. He looked up at her as he shifted his hand to rub his thumb across the back of hers.

"I will always choose you," he said softly.

"What about me?"

The question came from Rachel.

Cuddy smiled affectionately at House and watched him look at her daughter. He made a big show of leaning and looking at her from head to toe and back again, studying her face in an exaggerated assessment clearly designed to entertain Rachel.

"Yeah, you'll do, kid," he said finally, a definite smile lurking in the corners of his mouth and amusement shining from his eyes.

That's all Rachel needed. She was out of her chair in a second and throwing her arms around House's neck. She kissed his cheek and whispered not so quietly in his ear words that loosed Cuddy's tears and made her heart skip a beat.

"I've always wanted a daddy."


	111. Chapter 111

**Part 111**

House was sitting in a chair on the back stoop while Rachel played in the snow.

Cuddy had swept off the top two steps and set the chair near the railing so he could be comfortable and reduce the chances of falling. She was inside now, making hot chocolate and watching her two loves.

House was watching as Rachel made snow angels in every clear spot she could find. He smiled whenever she'd fall backward into the deep snow, all but disappearing from view before the distinct flailing would start.

Cuddy smiled at them both. She didn't know if Rachel would ever call House "daddy" but it's clear that's what she wanted him to be — in the way she understood it.

House hadn't quite known how to respond. There'd been the usual awkwardness he felt when Rachel was overtly affectionate, but not the "flight" reaction she would have expected in the past. He'd deflected instead, telling her to go get dressed so she could play in the snow.

Once Rachel had disappeared upstairs, House looked at Cuddy in question, for guidance she surmised. He was so afraid of doing the wrong thing, but Cuddy consoled him.

"She doesn't fully understand the concept," Cuddy had told him. "It's still up to you to define it, in your own time. She won't push you."

"Others might," he'd noted and he was right.

Other kids, adults, her mother … any or all of them would want to hang traditional father-daughter definitions on them. It was unfair but the way of the world.

"I'll talk to her," Cuddy had assured him. "I'll make sure she understands that it can be whatever you two decide and doesn't have to be like everybody else."

"Will she want to call me…?" he'd asked, clearly not ready for that just yet.

"I don't know," Cuddy had told him honestly. "She may only ever call you what she does now. But I do think she will ask permission if she wants to call you … something else."

House had nodded at her answer and let it drop, his signal that he wanted to think about it. So Cuddy let him, helping him get set up out on the porch.

Seeing him draw further into his coat, Cuddy went to the laundry and grabbed a heavy blanket from the linen shelf. She took it out to him, along with a cup of cocoa. She went back in long enough to put on her own coat and bring out a chair to set beside his. He shared the blanket and the cocoa while they watched a giggling Rachel play the way only a truly happy child could.

"Children make you want to start life over."

The soft murmur caught Cuddy's ear.

"Another from the philosopher Jagger?"

House looked over at her in mock disappointment. "I do know more than one philosopher."

She smiled, "Which one was that?"

"Muhammad Ali," he stated.

Cuddy thought to laugh, sure he was yanking her chain, but she saw House was serious.

"He's not wrong," she said after a few moments.

"No, he's not," House said as he resumed watching Rachel.

Studying his profile, Cuddy said softly, "I have another one for you, if you're interested."

"Shoot," he said, eyes still on Rachel.

Leaning closer to him, Cuddy whispered, "The soul is healed by being with children … Dostoevsky."

To her surprise, he looked over at her and said softly, "He's not wrong."

At one point in their relationship, she would have pushed or teased him on the "soul" aspect, but not today. Not any time in the near future. Instead, she leaned closer still and he moved to meet her for a gentle kiss.

That's when the snowball hit.

It missed Cuddy, but not House. It landed dead center in his chest.

"Rachel!" Cuddy shouted, but House had already lowered the blanket, salvaged the rest of the snowball and was hurling it at the laughing little girl who was trying to hide behind a bush.

It landed on the front of Rachel's coat. She just laughed and went back to making snow angels.

Cuddy looked at House and thought to tell him not to encourage that kind of behavior, especially with the precarious nature of his leg in these weather conditions. But she squelched the impulse immediately upon seeing he was happy.

There was no harm done, and none had been intended. They'd just been playing, and she felt it would be desperately wrong to deprive either of them of their current bond while they built others.

Looking from one to the other, Cuddy knew for a certainty that their relationship would never fit any mould other than the one they made themselves. Just like herself and House.

And Cuddy was just fine with that.


	112. Chapter 112

**Part 112**

"All right, where is the_ shlub_?"

Cuddy's back was to the door of her office but she didn't need her eyes to know who stood at the threshold. She immediately grated at the sound of her mother's voice, the tone holding just the right amount of hostility and condescension to raise her guard.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy closed the folder she was holding, turned and looked at her mother.

"_House_ is none of your concern." Cuddy started with bluntness in hopes of shutting down any potential shouting match.

Unfortunately, her mother wasn't deterred.

"He sure as hell is if he's _shtupping_ you and living with you and my granddaughter," Arlene Cuddy said as she stepped further into Cuddy's office. She shut the door behind her.

Meeting her mother's gaze, Cuddy set the file down her desk with a calculated consideration. She braced her hands on the surface then slowly lowered into her chair as her mother did the same on the other side.

"Mom," she began, turning her tone toward conversational. "I will talk with you about this, but I want it clear from the outset that this is not a discussion or debate. I will not be threatened or guilted into any course other than the one I've _carefully_ chosen."

"So you are _shtupping_ him," her mother said with an exasperated motion of her hands. She shook her head at Cuddy. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Cuddy had talked at length last night with House about how to answer that exact question. They'd decided frankness would be the best course of action. Get it out in the open and lay the foundation to continue the conversation calmly but with certainty — but assert control of the discourse if necessary.

"That I love a man no one else in the world can and because no one other than him will ever love me the way I need," Cuddy stated directly.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "_Oi,_ when I said your standards were too high, I didn't mean for you to lower them this far."

"This isn't a lowering of standards. It's about acceptance, honesty, and trust."

Her mother scoffed. "You can't be serious?! Trust?! The man drove a car into your home!"

Sitting back in her chair, feeling remarkably collected despite the heated and personal nature of the conversation, Cuddy clasped her hands in her lap. "We've discussed that."

Arlene shook her head again. "Care to elaborate?"

"No. That is between House and I," Cuddy replied. "But I can tell you that he is different."

"He can't be _that_ different considering the way you chose to address my concerns."

Cuddy and House had been right that the conversation that morning with Arlene had truly tipped their hand, despite Rachel having been the one to open the door.

"That was disrespectful," Cuddy admitted, "But it was my doing, not his."

"But he's clearly had an influence," Arlene pointed out.

Cuddy didn't bother to deny it. "Yes, but he always has. And he is still House, but he is not the same. What he's been through—"

"What he's been through," her mother interrupted. "Lisa, do you hear yourself? You're making excuses for him. What about what he put you through?"

"No. There are no excuses for what he did, and he hasn't tried to offer any. He didn't even ask for forgiveness, I gave it because it was the right thing to do."

A string of yiddish followed that but Cuddy ignored it, waiting for the next round.

"You've lost your mind," her mother finally declared.

Cuddy shook her head. "No, I am perfectly sane and rational."

"Is he?" Arlene threw back.

Moving her hands from her lap to the arms of her chair, Cuddy responded, "He's dealing with a lot, but he is not insane and he is actually the _most rational_ person I've ever known."

"Dealing with a lot? What the hell could he have to deal with? He faked his death and ran out on a warrant."

So she had looked up the police reports.

"Did the police reports tell you why he did that?" Cuddy asked.

"Does it really matter?" her mother responded. "The man deserved what he got, probably deserved more for endangering your—"

"Enough," Cuddy said, bringing her mother to a halt. "I understand your concern for me and Rachel, and I understand your anger at House. But the situation today is not the same one we faced two years ago."

Cuddy clasped her hands again. "We've both grown and frankly, there's a lot you don't know."

Arlene cut her a look. "Are you going to share _any_ of that?"

"I will _if_ you will actually listen," Cuddy countered.

It wasn't in her mother's nature to just listen, but to pronounce and give opinions. To Cuddy's relief, though, the older woman nodded.

"He did his time," Cuddy stated but didn't elaborate further on the fact she felt his sentencing and incarceration with hard-core offenders was inappropriate. "They were going to put him back in on what we've since learned are bogus charges."

"So why fake his death and run? Why not take the thing to court?"

"He didn't have time," Cuddy said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Cuddy shot her mother a warning look before continuing. "James Wilson was dying and would have been dead by the time the legal system ran its course."

Seeing her mother paying more attention, Cuddy added, "He gave up his life so Wilson could live the last of his free of IVs and hospitals."

"Wilson, that was the young man at dinner?"

"Yes," Cuddy said. "House took care of him until the end, saw him buried then turned himself in."

Cuddy watched her mother process the information.

"And he came running to you when it was all done?" The judgmental tone was back.

"No," Cuddy said once again. "His attorney came to me because he was injured in jail, and he needed help."

Her mother's exasperation returned. "Lisa, he will _always _need your help. It's how he reels you again."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't give it," Cuddy told her. "I am a doctor. I have been his doctor for years. So I don't have the luxury of just ignoring when—"

"Oh yes, you do," Arlene disagreed. "There's nothing binding you to this man beyond your own sense of guilt and his ability to play on it."

Cuddy was losing patience.

"There is far more between us and you know it," Cuddy confronted her mother. "You were the one who tried to get us back together, remember? You know there's love there, and a lot more."

"Love is one thing, Lisa," Arlene said. "This is pure masochism."

Cuddy shook her head, temper rising. "Not even close," she snapped. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to agree with it. But it is my choice."

"And your sister?"

"Same applies," Cuddy didn't budge.

"And Rachel?

"Rachel is just fine."

"I want to see the son of a bitch," Arlene demanded.

Cuddy didn't want that. House was down in the PT room right now.

"No," she laid down the line. "He is still recovering."

"From what? How bad off could he be if he spent the last half-year on the run?" Arlene challenged. "Has his limp gotten worse?"

That was it. This was not how Cuddy wanted to do things, but maybe it was time for a dose of reality.

"Okay," Cuddy said rising. "Let's go see him. Just don't expect a cordial welcome."

"Do you think I'm going to give him one?"

"No," Cuddy said somberly and led her mother out of her office and toward the physical therapy rooms.


	113. Chapter 113

**Part 113**

The walk to the physical therapy ward was a quiet one. Thankfully.

If Arlene had chosen to do so, she could have squawked the whole way, which would have been professionally embarrassing for Cuddy, not to mention it would just piss her off and she was already not in the mood for this. The awkward silence was bad enough, gaining more than a few glances from staff they passed.

Once they neared the main PT room, Cuddy stopped her mother. "You need to be prepared for what you're going to see."

"How bad could this be?" Arlene said then continued walking, brushing past Cuddy to step into the room.

Cuddy followed and knew exactly when her mother saw House because she came to a dead stop.

Cuddy stepped up beside her quietly and folded her arms. She was glad House's back was to her, so he couldn't see her mother just yet.

_He is really struggling today_, Cuddy thought, seeing how shaky his arms were. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat. She could see the tension in his neck and back. He was leaning heavily on his good leg.

He took another step forward…

His left elbow buckled under his weight, drawing a groan from him. The therapists didn't rush to help him. He needed to do this on his own, but it was painful to stand by and watch him try and fail.

When he finally decided he couldn't push himself back up, she watched him throw his weight on to the left bar, hooking it over the railing then reaching down with his right hand to take off the prosthetic. He tossed it aside with a curse.

"Oh my God."

The exclamation was soft and came from Cuddy's mother.

Cuddy ignored her and bolted forward as House's left leg buckled under him, worry driving her across the distance.

The therapists were moving, too, catching him before he could hit the mat. Once they lowered him, he shoved them all away. He started to push her away as well, but she stopped him by saying his name.

He looked up at her, his lean face slick with sweat, his eyes telling of a pain she knew all too well.

"Phantom?" she asked.

He nodded. His left hand was still holding onto the railing, keeping him upright, while his right hand was digging into what remained of his thigh. It was the first time he'd had this since the amputation.

"You want something for it?"

He hesitated before acceding with a rasped, "Yeah."

Cuddy sent one of the therapist assistants to the nurse's station with orders for pain medication while Carla stepped up and helped her lower House to the mat.

"I'm going to look at your stump," she told him and he nodded. She removed the compression sock and bandage to examine him. There was some swelling, but nothing unexpected. The coloring was good, no hematomas or skin irritation.

"How's it look?" House asked.

She glanced up. His eyes were closed.

"Good," she told him then began a gentle massage.

She watched him blindly wipe down his face when Carla gave him a towel.

"I say we call it a day, Dr. House," the woman told him. "We'll get you iced up for a bit then apply heat, and let you rest."

In response, House slammed his right hand into the mat beside him. He looked up at Cuddy. "Thought I was through with this."

"I know," Cuddy replied clinically, speaking to him as a doctor, "But you also knew this was a possibility."

"The good news is that since it's taken this long to manifest," Carla chimed in, "Odds are good that it's not going to be a frequent occurrence."

House already knew it, but he nodded to Carla anyway. He definitely liked her, Cuddy mused, or he would have said something caustic.

When the other therapist returned with the requested medication, Cuddy prepped the dosage and swabbed an area on House's thigh. She warned him before inserting the needle and injecting the ketorolac.

Once done, she handed off the syringe and vial to the therapist then nodded to Carla, who rose and ushered everyone away.

Cuddy laid her hand on House's chest and caressed him gently. "Let me know when you're ready to move," she said softly.

He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes. She felt tremors in his hand and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She waited with him, offering him the comfort of her presence until they eased.

Catching a movement in her peripheral vision, Cuddy glanced to see her mother approaching. She shook her head sharply at Arlene, sent her a look that warned her to stay back. She needn't have bothered, though. When she looked back to House, she saw him watching her.

"Only one person causes that look," he said softly.

"I'm sorry. She ambushed me in my office," she told him. "I wasn't going to bring her down here but…"

"Short of calling security, or the National Guard, I'm not sure how you could have stopped her."

He was right. When her mother got a head of steam…

"I'm going to send her home," Cuddy told him. "I'm not in the mood for theatrics and I know you're not."

He took a deep breath, asked, "Do we really want to put this off?"

"No," Cuddy conceded. "I want it over with so it's not hanging over us. Or Rachel."

"Then let's get it over with. The kid doesn't need to be in the middle of this."

Cuddy nodded, wondering if he realized he'd just made a parent's decision.

House's eyes told her he was ready for a fight, if Arlene wanted one. As much as pain was his enemy, he knew how to use it to his benefit, too — theirs in this instance.

"Only if you're sure," she told him, offering him a way out, knowing he was going to take the brunt of whatever was to come.

"Yeah, let's deal with the old battle-axe so I can go home and make her daughter moan in ecstasy, and spoil her granddaughter with ice cream and cake."

Cuddy smiled at him.

If her mother took House's current physical state as a sign of weakness, she was going to be surprised. He was still full of everything that made him House, who could be formidable when he wanted to be. So could Cuddy and she was prepared to stand toe-to-toe with her mother if necessary.

Cuddy just hoped it wouldn't be, but if it was, she liked their odds.

"Do you want to clean up first?"

He nodded. Cuddy moved her hand and gave his a squeeze before moving away and letting the therapists help get him up onto his good leg. They were just going to carry him over to the benches, but he stopped them and requested the prosthetic.

Cuddy picked it up and took it to him. She slid the compression sock back onto his stump then helped him secure the artificial limb in place.

He moved his right arm from around one of the therapists and grabbed the railing. No one said a word when he did the same with the left. The therapists moved away, but stayed close just in case.

Cuddy smiled. He was going to finish what he started. She moved to the end of the railings and waited for him, not giving a damn that her mother was watching.

"Come get your kiss," she told him and watched him alternately grin and grimace through the pain as he slowly closed the distance.

By the time he reached the end, the other patients and therapists in the room were clapping in honor of his accomplishment, and Cuddy's heart was filled with pride and love.

She smiled at him as he smiled at her then rose up on her toes and met him for a soft, sweet kiss.


	114. Chapter 114

**Part 114**

"So now you're a slut in public."

That was the opening volley from Arlene Cuddy as she came into the privacy room where Cuddy was helping House redress his stump with compression bandages.

Cuddy just shot her a look while House unsheathed his tongue. She didn't try to stop him, knowing this would be a war fought between wit and verbal barbs. That was House's territory and, unfortunately, her mother's. Cuddy could hold her own, but she was a rank amateur between these two.

"Your daughter is the farthest thing from a slut," House slung back.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Arlene glared at him. "What was it? Oh yes, an orgy of hookers. That's what you went to after my daughter dumped you."

"Don't forget the vicodin and booze binge," he quipped, then added, "Actually, do forget that and everything else that you don't really give a crap about. Let's skip right to what you really want to address—"

"My daughter's sanity?" Arlene said in that patronizing tone that made Cuddy want to scream.

House saved her from it, though, not even hesitating to come to her defense, as he'd started to during the birthday dinner — right before the sedatives kicked in.

"Old woman, you can call me whatever you want. You can say whatever you want to me or about me," he said with a lethal quiet, "But stop insulting your daughter to punish me. She is far better than you or I can ever hope to be."

When her mother didn't respond right away, Cuddy glanced up to see her mouth hanging open — which she quickly closed when she saw Cuddy was looking at her.

"You're going to let him talk to me like that?" she asked.

Cuddy shrugged. "You wanted to see him," she stated plainly, "If you're going to engage him, you're gonna have to take what comes with it."

Catching House's gaze, she underscored his words, "Also, I don't appreciate being called a slut, especially by my mother."

"Then what do you call that out there?" Arlene asked.

"PDA, otherwise known as a public display of affection."

Cuddy smiled at House. "There is an argument for _House_ training," she said.

"That's valid," he countered, asked, "Especially since I'm already House _broken_. What do I get if I bring in the paper without teethmarks?"

"Oi! You two!"

Cuddy looked at her mother and so did House. They were surprised to see her giving her version of a smile, maybe. It was a sort of squinty-eyed grimace.

"You deserve each other," she said. "He's an ass. You encourage it. You _both_ get off on it. What's a car in your dining room compared to that? It's not like anyone _could have been killed_."

Okay, maybe not a smile.

Cuddy looked to House. This was something they hadn't really discussed at any real length. There'd had been no point. They both knew what'd happened. They knew what could have happened. They both knew why it happened and that if the hands of time could be turned back, House would undo it.

Because of that, Cuddy was not going to let her mother cajole him into an apology that he would mean but Arlene wouldn't accept or even use against him in some fashion. Cuddy knew the truth and that was enough, and her mother was just going to have to live with disappointment if that's what she was after.

"Drop it," Cuddy said firmly to her mother. "I told you that House and I have had that discussion and it's between us, no one else."

"You don't think he should apologize to your sister?"

"Would Julia even listen?" Cuddy asked in return. She knew the answer and so did Arlene.

"Doesn't mean he shouldn't offer it."

"It doesn't mean I won't."

Cuddy looked to House but spoke to her mother. "Would you wait outside please, Mom?"

Surprisingly, Arlene did as asked, leaving Cuddy alone with House.

"You do not have to do that," she told him softly. "I won't have them browbeating you for the rest of your life over something I've forgiven you for."

"You think they will?" he asked, curious more than worried.

"Mom may get past it in time," Cuddy confessed. "When she tried to get us to reconcile, I gathered she has a bit of a soft spot for you. But Julia … she won't, House. She won't. She'll use it. I know she will because she's thrown what happened in my face, whenever she got the chance these last two years."

"Guess I got the pick of the Cuddy litter."

Cuddy smiled. "I'm a puppy now?"

"No," House replied. "You're all woman."

Taking his face in her hands, Cuddy searched his eyes. "I'll support you whatever you want to do, House. But I do not want to open the door to your being treated like crap just to satisfy Julia's need to be the center of attention."

"Good for you."

The words came from the doorway. House and Cuddy looked over to see Arlene step back through.

"I knew you were good for her," Cuddy's mother said to House. "She wouldn't listen, though. Stubborn and prideful. Of course, you're both that."

Cuddy wasn't sure her hearing was working properly. Had her mother just given her approval of House? Their relationship?

Looking at House, she saw him taking in the situation like a mongoose watches a cobra.

"I agree that Julia is a bit of a drama queen. It's tiresome at times," Arlene continued, stopped in front of House. "I don't like what you did, Greg. Far from it. But you make Lisa happy, for some inexplicable reason, and she's earned it."

"Mom?" Cuddy said as her mother headed toward the door again.

"Lisa, close your mouth and take care of the idiot," Arlene directed. "I'm going to go pick up my granddaughter from school and we'll have dinner at your house."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Cuddy and House speechless in her wake.


	115. Chapter 115

**Part 115**

The bed in the dining room had raised Arlene's eyebrows but Cuddy hadn't offered an explanation other than to say that the elevator had just been put into service.

To Cuddy's surprise, they made it through dinner without any of the snideness she'd feared would surface from her mother. Arlene hadn't prodded or teased her or House during the meal.

Cuddy believed they owed the lack of upheaval to Rachel's presence and clear adoration of House. Her daughter had spent the entire meal sitting next to him, talking to him and telling her Nana how great he was and happy she was that he was home.

As Rachel's bedtime neared, Arlene suggested Cuddy take the little one up to get her ready. Cuddy hesitated, not wanting to leave House to be grilled, but Rachel saved them the trouble. She asked House to help.

He'd looked reticent but hadn't been able to disappoint Rachel, so they'd rode up in the lift together, leaving Cuddy alone with her mother.

Wanting a distraction, Cuddy rose and began clearing the table. Her mother got up to help her but remained polite and helpful. It was unnerving, and grew even more-so when Arlene invited herself to stay the night.

"Let me just get some fresh sheets for the bed down here," Cuddy said.

"Still haven't finished the third floor?" Arlene asked, following Cuddy to the laundry and linen storage then out to the dining room.

"The major stuff has been done, wiring and plumbing," Cuddy said, trying to stick to smalltalk. She didn't know why, though. Her mother didn't _do_ smalltalk, not like normal people.

Cuddy suspected she was either being really paranoid, or her mother was waiting for just the right moment to blindside her with something.

"I had the contractors make sure the lift goes all the way up," Cuddy explained. "I still need to pick out colors and furnishings."

"I'm assuming this bed will go up there," Arlene said while helping Cuddy strip the linens to prepare for the new ones.

Cuddy hadn't thought about that, but it probably would. "Yes, and I'll be bringing the dining table back down."

"Greg couldn't walk up the stairs when he got here?"

"No," Cuddy replied, shaking her head. "He almost died in Princeton."

Her mother stopped helping her. Cuddy looked up at her. There was genuine surprise in her mother's features, along with … concern.

"What happened?"

Cuddy continued to stare at her mother, not sure what the hell was going on.

"Oh relax, Lisa, I'm not a serial killer," Arlene said after a few moments, clearly exasperated. "I'm not the easiest person to be around, I know, but I'm not packing a machine gun or meat cleaver."

Cuddy sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just…"

"I know, dear, but the hard part's over. Now tell me what happened in Princeton."

Cuddy wasn't so sure about the hard part being over. It was the first time she'd actually talked to someone outside of those events, who hadn't been there, and it actually brought forth emotions Cuddy hadn't expected — grief and fear.

She actually found herself crying silent tears as she talked about how serious things had been, how close House had come to actually dying. Then when she talked about the surgery here in Baltimore and having to tell the doctors to amputate his leg.

Cuddy had no idea at what point she'd sat down, but she had, on the side of the bed, and her mother was now sitting beside her, hands holding hers.

"I hope that _shlub_ knows what he has in you," her mother said after a while.

"I know."

Cuddy looked over her shoulder to see House standing in the entry to the kitchen. His eyes were on her. He was clearly tired but was intently projecting concern — for her.

"I'm okay," she told him but she could tell he only about halfway believed her.

That's because she was only about halfway okay. She clearly needed to address the things that had been buried out of necessity during the last month.

"No, she's not," her mother declared as she pushed herself up from beside Cuddy.

Cuddy watched her look at House.

"Greg, would you take my daughter upstairs and make sure she takes care of herself for a change?"

In answer, House held his hand out to Cuddy.

"Come on."


	116. Chapter 116

**Part 116**

"Shower or bath?"

Those were the first words asked once the bedroom door was shut. Cuddy smiled at hearing them and watched as House made his way to the bathroom.

"Bath," she said.

"Coming right up," he replied and disappeared out of view.

Cuddy leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. Their short ride in the lift together had been quiet. He'd just put an arm around her and held her close, propping his chin atop her head. She'd liked that, had found it comforting after the emotional release when talking to her mother.

The reality of the last month had sank in during the retelling of events. Some things she had left out, for propriety's sake, but the overview was enough to make her realize how much she'd been carrying, and exactly how close she'd come to losing House.

_House._

He'd skirted death twice in the span of weeks. Both times, she'd been at his side, making medical decisions, upholding his wishes. The rest of the time she'd spent sleeping on horrible cots and in barely comfortable chairs. She'd made sure he was fed, bathed, clothed, as pain free as possible … and loved. The latter had been the easiest part.

But in all that, she'd taken little time to herself. She had no complaints, but she was tired and since coming to Baltimore with House, she'd experienced what she would have missed out on if he'd died.

Tonight was the first time she'd really thought about that and the idea she might have missed out on this time with him grieved her.

The thought of having never again known what it was like to go to bed with him at night and wake up with him in the morning was almost too much to bear. It made her ache to think she might never have shared a bath or shower with him again, or eat breakfast, talk medicine, or cuddle up next to him on the couch.

And, God, that beautiful impromptu piano session in the night. The lovemaking. The kisses. Being held and touched with gentleness and love. And the pure, unmitigated joy of watching Rachel with him and seeing him carefully navigate his relationship with her.

Those things would have never been.

Cuddy would not be listening to him prepare her a bath. She would not be comforted by the knowledge that she was going to spoon with him afterward, beneath the covers of her bed. Maybe ask him to touch her as her lover and make her feel the beauty of what they shared.

Opening her eyes, Cuddy saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, just watching her, a gentle look on his face.

"I love you," she said softly across the distance.

He held his hand out to her again and she went to him, again, let herself be drawn into a half-embrace. He whispered softly to her.

"Tell me what you need."

Her head tucked against his chest, arms around his waist, she replied, "This… you…"

He bowed his head beside hers.

"Pretty broad. Anything specific?"

She smiled, nuzzled into his neck, breathing, "Bath. Bed. Sex. Sleep."

He smiled. She felt his cheek shift against hers.

"Water's hot," he said before releasing her and directing her into the bathroom.

Cuddy paused to kiss him in thanks before undressing and climbing into the tub. The water was soothing, and he left her to it. She just relaxed for a while, but when she felt sleep tugging at her, she washed and rinsed off then drained the tub.

When she emerged from the bathroom in a towel, she found the covers on her side of the bed turned down and her night clothes laid out.

House was not there, though. She wondered at his absence but not for long.

She was sliding on the pink camisole when he came into the room. He had changed into his bedclothes and was carrying … a thermos, clipped to his crutch.

"Tea," he explained.

Cuddy would have been surprised except that he'd often brought her chamomile tea at bedtime when they'd been together. He would just do little things like that. She'd taken them for granted then, but no longer.

"Thank you," she said as she watched him unclip the thermos and set it on the dresser. She went over and took the cap after he poured some into it.

He kissed her on the forehead in response and went into the bathroom.

Cuddy heard him washing up. It was an end of the day ritual, sometimes more than once a day. His stump had to be kept clean and dry to promote healing and prevent infection. And the prosthetic had to be kept clean as well to prevent the growth of bacteria.

Once he was finished, he came back into the bedroom, sat on the bed and leaned his prosthetic and the crutch aside. She moved to help him with rewrapping his stump and he let her, running his fingers through her damp hair and caressing her shoulders and face.

When she was finished, he drew her up and kissed her softly. "Lay down," he breathed when he pulled his mouth from hers. Those blue eyes of his were teeming with tenderness and desire.

_Sex. _She'd asked for that. He provided it, but it was for her alone.

He laid down beside her and caressed her from head to toe, fingers stroking, gliding, kneading. He kissed her as he did. Her mouth, her hands, her breasts. Then he was sliding his fingers inside the thin bottoms of her nightclothes to find her wet and ready for the release she desired.

He kissed her temple and lay his head beside hers on the pillow with a whispered "Close your eyes."

Cuddy did and let herself just enjoy the sensual caresses he bestowed to her sex. He was being so gentle, but touching her in just the right way. Her legs parted in welcome when he gently pressed against her thigh. He slid his fingers inside her and continued the lazy loving of her.

It was beautiful and perfect.

Turning her head, she looked at him. She felt a tear fall hotly down her cheek with the movement. She hadn't realized she was crying. He didn't say anything at first, just watched her as he touched her, but then he did speak and her heart fluttered.

"You take care of everyone but you," he whispered.

It wasn't an inaccurate assessment, though Cuddy wasn't prepared to say she never took care of herself at all. She was just often last on the list.

He leaned toward her and she moved to meet him accepting his kiss then whispering his name softly when he kissed away her tears. She only shed more, her heart trembling within her breast at hearing a tender "I love you" between the touches of his lips.

He pulled her face into the crook of his neck and laid his cheek against hers, told her she was beautiful while he coaxed her desire higher. When she was at the edge, he spoke to her again, telling her he wanted her to come for him. And she did, her body undulating in a gentle wave of release that he prolonged deftly until she was practically boneless.

Sleep was next, after a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up. He spooned behind her under the covers and pulled her close.

The last thing she heard before falling off to sleep was House whispering.

"I'll do better at taking care of you."


	117. Chapter 117

**Part 117**

House and Rachel were up by the time Cuddy woke. The clock on the nightstand indicated she'd slept longer than usual, but a note on the pillow next to her told her not to rush, that everything was under control.

She smiled at seeing House's handwriting. It wasn't something she'd seen all that often at Princeton-Plainsboro. The man had been horrible about charting and filing reports and evaluations.

Taking her time, as advised, she showered and fixed her hair and makeup before going downstairs.

As she passed through the dining room, Cuddy noted her mother was gone, the bed remade. She found House and Rachel in the kitchen making _her_ breakfast. Well, House was.

Rachel had clearly already eaten because she was dressed for school, her backpack held in one hand, and asking House when Janice was coming.

"She's on her way," he assured Rachel who smiled when she looked over and saw Cuddy.

"Hi, Mommy."

"Hey, sweetheart," Cuddy returned, bending to accept the kiss that Rachel offered. She kissed her daughter's cheek in return.

"House made cinnamon oatmeal and apples for me," she announced.

It was a healthier menu that she'd expected him to provide her child. He was a junk food junkie — most of the time.

Walking over to House, Cuddy touched his shoulder gently. He looked at her, eyes assessing a moment or two before he leaned in and gave her a good morning kiss. She smiled at him then looked to see he was preparing her a grapefruit to go with a bowl of oatmeal.

"You want anything else?" he asked.

Cuddy shook her head. "That's perfect," she told him then asked, "What time did Mom leave?"

"Shortly after we got up," he replied then told her to go sit.

Cuddy did and he enlisted Rachel to bring the food over to her. She thanked her daughter with another kiss to her cheek and a quick hug.

"Nana says she loves you," Rachel said then scowled. "She told House to be nice to us. But I told her he's always nice, even when he's sad or feels bad."

Cuddy glanced at House, but his back was to her as he poured her a cup of coffee.

"Yes, he is nice to us," Cuddy agreed. He had been very nice to her last night. She'd felt taken care of. It was a nice feeling.

Noting House was not dressed to go out, she asked him if he was coming into the hospital today for PT.

"Carla's coming here this afternoon. She's bringing some weights."

"Do you need some to use here?" Cuddy asked, more than willing to have Carla choose a set and have them ordered. He was going to need to keep a regular regimen. But even as she asked, she saw House's expression shift.

Money.

They hadn't really talked about it except in passing, but he clearly had none at the moment. There was a time he'd have just used her credit card — or more likely Wilson's — without asking permission, just to see how far he could go before they'd shut him down. But in the last month, she'd noticed he seemed bothered, at least in some instances, about her buying the things he needed. Not to mention she was footing the bill for his medical care.

Seeing the look on his face, though, Cuddy decided to wait until Rachel left with Janice before broaching the subject. It was never easy talking about finances, which is why she took a careful approach when she brought it up.

"House," she began when he joined her at the table with a mug of coffee of his own. He looked at her and she could tell he knew what she was going to say.

He sighed. "Yeah, I need them."

Cuddy touched his arm. "We can talk if you want."

"Nothing really to talk about. It is what it is," he said in reply. "There's still a lot to sort out until I have any sort of income."

He was, unfortunately, very right about that. But she wanted him to know they were okay. She'd invested well over the years. It was one of the truly great benefits of habitual planning.

"I know," she acknowledged. "But just know we're fine on that front."

He nodded then told her to eat her breakfast so she wouldn't be late. She did.

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs when she came down from brushing her teeth. She smiled when he walked her to the door.

"Thank you for breakfast," she said as she shrugged into her coat.

He smiled then reached and cupped the back of her head, drew her to him as he swooped down and kissed her passionately. It ended almost as quickly as it began, leaving her a bit stunned and breathless.

His smile was brighter when she looked at him again.

"See you this afternoon." They were the only words she could come up with after that kiss.

"Okay."

With a quick smile and kiss to his cheek, Cuddy turned to go but she let out a gasp when, as she bent to pick up her work satchel, he groped her ass.

It was so _House_.

When she righted herself, Cuddy looked at him again and shook her head.

"You better make good on that later," she told him then left for work.


	118. Chapter 118

**Part 118**

Cuddy stood at the nurse's station making notes in the chart of her twelve-year-old diabetes patient.

They'd been struggling for the last two months to get his blood sugar under control and his body had taken a beating as a result. She'd admitted him yesterday. Things were looking better, but she wanted to monitor him for the next forty-eight hours before sending him home.

It was cases like this that made her thankful for Rachel's good health. Illness was hard enough on adults, but children … they should never have to be sick. It's a beautiful irony that they were usually the best patients. Young Stephen was one of those, full of life despite the crappy hand he'd been dealt through genetics.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy looked up to see one of the ward nurses approaching the desk bearing a bouquet of tulips in all colors. She was a brunette, about the same height as Cuddy. Her name was Beth and she was smiling ear to ear.

"Yes?"

"These were just delivered for you," Beth said, holding out the flowers to Cuddy.

Cuddy closed up Stephen's chart and set it back in the rack before taking the bouquet from Beth. Only one person would send her flowers. Opening the little envelope, she pulled out four and laughed when she read them in succession.

"_Cuddy, I have two lips — ha! — for you to make use of when you get home, however you want. Hopefully these will entertain you until then. Even though they're nowhere near as talented as the ones I have. - House_

_P.S. I had to use your credit card. Oh and you may never be able to use this florist again due to the suggestive nature of this message."_

Looking up at the nurse, Cuddy thanked her then pocketed the messages. She picked up the flowers and smiled yet again.

House. Count on him to do the unexpected.

Of course the rest of the day, Cuddy thought about his lips — and tongue. She wasn't discriminatory.

She managed to grade some papers without doodling their initials with cartoon lips next to them in the corners like a lovestruck teen. She made it through her lecture without bursting out into a graphic soliloquy about the joys of oral sex and kissing with a skilled partner.

Rounds were trickier. Cuddy's mind drifted to memories and fantasies during a few of the boring presentations. Which was bad because the students noticed her flush and she was of no good to the patients.

Cuddy ended up having to excuse herself as not feeling well. Truth was she felt fine but was horny to the point of distraction. She called House on the way down to her office.

"You ass," she said as soon as he picked up the call.

_"You know your voice gets all husky when you're ready for action."_

She smiled despite wanting to pinch him. "Still an ass."

_"_Coming_ home?"_

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "God, House. Please tell me Carla is not there."

_"Carla's not here."_

Skeptical, she asked, "Is that true?"

"_Yeah_," he answered then asked playfully, "_Wanna know what I'm wearing?_"

"No!" she said quickly, then under her breath, "I have enough problems."

_"That bad, huh?"_

Cuddy sighed. "It's a good thing I love you because you really are an ass."

_"Actually, it's your ass that started all this."_

"I don't see how. You're the one who groped me," Cuddy replied, glancing around quickly first to make sure no one was close enough to hear her.

_"You bent over. In front of me."_

Cuddy laughed as she rounded the corner toward the elevators. She didn't even bother verbalizing a response. Which only encouraged him, of course.

_"What? You expected me to not notice? It's huge … and spectacular."_

Cuddy would say he was in major need of employment or a hobby, but she knew neither would sideline this particular game. He would still find a way to engage her throughout the day. He'd done it for nearly fifteen years in Princeton. He would even show up on her doorstep in the night, on her dates … wherever she was.

Still, she thought she might have a wet blanket to toss on the current fire so she could think straight for the rest of the workday.

"You know, I could ask my mother to come stay the rest of the week."

It had the intended effect, immediately.

_"Major boner bummer, Cuddy._"

Cuddy grinned as she entered the elevator. "In the elevator so I may lose you," she warned him.

_"Oh you're not losing me,"_ he said. _"I'll just call you back. Once you're in your office. Alone."_

"Who says I'm going to my office?" Cuddy replied as she nodded to a patient and nursing assistant who boarded before the doors could close.

_"You are," _he said then disconnected the call.

He was so sure of himself that Cuddy considered going elsewhere just to tell him he was wrong. But he'd know she made the choice just to try to best him. He could be infuriating that way.

He did call her back once she was in her office, but the conversation took a different route.

_"Give me something to do, Cuddy."_

Cuddy heard the need in his voice. Idleness was not something he could handle when alone. He needed occupation. It didn't have to be a job, just something to make use of his intellect. She wished she had a case she could give him and considered calling Stacy before she left for home. It couldn't hurt to see if she could get him freed up enough to at least consult or attend lectures where he could provide his unique diagnostic insights from real-world cases.

"I wish…" she started but didn't know what else to say.

"_I know._" His voice was soft through the receiver. "_I'd even take clinic duty right now._"

That made her smile, especial when she heart the tinge of amusement in his voice.

"Do you feel like cooking?"

"_Maybe. You want something in particular?_"

"I never did get to try your gnocchi," she suggested, recalling finding him cooking in his kitchen after his Mayfield stay. An older Asian lady had been cooking with him.

_"I'll see what I can come up with. May need a few things, though."_

"Well, you already have my credit card number," she teased. "And there's a number for a grocery delivery service on the side of the fridge."

_"Okay." _

He didn't sound overjoyed, but he did sound better.

"House," she said softly, looking at the fragrant bouquet laying next to her hand.

_"Yeah."_

"Thank you for the flowers."

_"I love you, Cuddy."_

She heard his smile.


	119. Chapter 119

**Part 119**

Cuddy looked up at the man on her right in awe.

Impolite as it was to talk with one's mouth full, she couldn't help herself. Hand shielding her mouth, she spoke around the sauce-covered gnocchi, "Oh my God, House! This is amazing!"

"It's amazing!" Rachel echoed.

House had cooked for them before, but nothing like this. He had clearly flexed his culinary muscles tonight. If she didn't know his true gift lay in medicine, she'd encourage him to open a restaurant — it was that good.

Swallowing, Cuddy looked to see Rachel smiling away, the flavorful tomato sauce surrounding her mouth as she chewed on one of the little potato dumplings.

House was watching Rachel in amusement, Cuddy noted. Then he met her gaze. His ego wouldn't allow him humility in something he knew he was good at and he had no reason to pretend otherwise in Cuddy's opinion. It made her happy to see that he was pleased they were enjoying it.

"You've been underplaying your skills in the kitchen," she accused.

He didn't deny it, just continued to eat quietly.

Cuddy and Rachel were anything but quiet. It seemed like with every bite one or the other of them was making some sort of sound of delight. Once her bowl was empty, Rachel asked for more. Cuddy refrained, but it was a test of willpower to surrender the tender, flavorful bites of heaven for the side salad. Especially with the mellow red wine he'd chosen to accompany the fluffy dumplings. It just made her palate long for more.

House apparently picked up on her dilemma because he suggested that she could do another ten minutes of yoga in the morning to compensate for five more. She caved.

Later, when they were settling in for the night, Cuddy suggested a better way to work off the extra carb intake.

"I didn't realize food was such a turn-on for you," House said as she moved astride him.

"It was really _great_ food," Cuddy said as she stripped off her nightshirt and sent it over the side of the bed.

He grinned. "An _oralgasmic_ experience?"

Cuddy smiled and laid her hands on his chest. "You could say that."

"You should have heard the sounds you were making," he teased, hands coming to rest on her waist. His thumbs smoothly moved back and forth along the curve of her hipbone. "I usually only hear those in the bedroom."

Cuddy didn't blush, but she probably should have.

"Want a private encore?" she said, sliding her hands down to grasp the hem of his t-shirt. "As my _personal_ thanks to the chef for his efforts?"

He raised his arms so she could pull the garment up and off. It landed somewhere.

"Absolutely," he said then quickly leaned in and took one of her breasts into his mouth.

"Oh God," Cuddy gasped, hands moving from his shoulders to grasp the headboard.

And that was pretty much it for playful banter and thinking for a while as he dedicated himself to fulfilling his promise from earlier in the day. She happily reciprocated until she was left huddled against his chest, his face in her hands, her body slick and trembling.

Soon as she caught her breath, Cuddy kissed him softly and brushed his hair back with her fingers. He returned the tender caresses of her lips, his hands moving over her back, touching lightly and cuddling her closer.

He was still inside her, softening but there, and she knew he wouldn't let her go until the realities of male physiology took him from her. When it happened, he leaned back against the pillows and looked up at her.

"I'm never going to stop wanting that."

Cuddy smiled at him. "Me either," she said, her eyes moving over his face while she caressed his stubbled cheeks. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, House."

She hadn't meant to say the words aloud, but tears came with them. They brimmed but didn't fall.

"But you didn't," he said, his hands traveling up to hold her as she was holding him. "I'm a leg short, but I'm still here."

There was a bit of a smile on his mouth. She returned the expression.

"Complete with blue eyes, scruffy beard, wicked tongue, and a wonderfully brilliant and filthy mind," she said.

"Don't forget mad culinary skills."

His smile was brighter now, but hers softened when she whispered.

"And tender heart."

There was a pause, then a breath that held her name. It sounded almost pained. He looked away so she drew his head to her breast and hugged him to her. She knew he was never really comfortable with that much exposure of himself, even with her. Though that was improving as his trust deepened.

Cuddy held him for a long while, until he suggested they clean up and get some sleep. She agreed and a short time later they snuggled beneath the covers, Cuddy nestled against his side, her arm thrown across his waist.

"I missed you today."

The words were spoken softly while his fingers idly caressed her upper arm.

"I missed you, too," Cuddy confessed. "You'll be going in with me tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy smiled and closed her eyes. "Good."

He kissed the top of her head.

"Good night, Cuddy," he breathed.

Cuddy kissed his chest.

"Good night, House."


	120. Chapter 120

**Part 120**

Cuddy stood at the nurses' station, frowning at the chart in front of her.

Young Stephen Gallagher was not getting any better. They were doing all the right things, but his blood sugar was still randomly skyrocketing.

She'd had a dietician set him up with a specific meal plan. She'd been monitoring his hormone levels, in case puberty was playing a part. She'd consulted with two pediatric endocrinologists as well and none of them could make sense of it.

In the carefully controlled environment she'd created for him, this should not still be happening. But it was.

"Why, Dr. Cuddy, what a deep frown you have?"

Cuddy looked up to see House approaching slowly. He looked tired.

"We can't get this kid's blood sugar under control no matter what we do," Cuddy said when he reached her.

Out of habit, she slid the chart over to where he could see it. Technically, she shouldn't let him look, not without the permission of the patient's parents, and because of the suspension of his medical license. But saving Stephen's organs was higher on her list of priorities and, if anyone could figure it out, it'd be House.

Seeing him wince, Cuddy suggested he go around and make use of one of the stools on the back side of the desk. He did but took the chart with him, eyes scanning the information as he impressively navigated safely to the other side while still reading.

Cuddy smiled, watching him set down the patient file long enough to hitch up onto the stool. When he went back to reading, she told him she had to check on another patient.

He didn't react, which made her smile. He was zoned in on a potential puzzle and she left him to think.

When she returned a short while later, she overheard one nurse talking to another, who was complaining about some unknown man reading a patient's chart at the desk.

"It's okay. He's with Dr. Cuddy," the one nurse said with a smile. "He's supposed to be some sort of genius diagnostician."

"He is," Cuddy smiled as passed the and rejoined House.

He looked up at her.

"Their older son died a year ago after nearly identical presentation," he noted.

"Yes," she nodded. "They are understandably terrified."

Not surprisingly, he ignored the observation.

"Initial symptoms were increased frequency of urination, fatigue, fainting, and weight loss, leading to a diagnosis of glucose intolerance related to Type 1 diabetes based on elevated ketones and blood sugar levels," he continued. "Both patients experienced short periods of glucose stabilization then acute fluctuations that require hospitalization until normalized again. The older son died within six months of diagnosis. Shortly thereafter the second son began exhibiting symptoms, but slower onset."

He paused then asked, "What do the parents do for a living?"

Cuddy didn't know and felt like an idiot. She hadn't taken the history and hadn't really thought about the absence of that particular information from the chart. After working with House for years, she should have known better than to overlook a lack of information of any sort. Everything was potentially important in a diagnosis.

Judging by the look on his face, he knew she didn't have the answer. But, shockingly, he didn't say anything. It was just the sort of situation she'd expect him to go ballistic about — professional inefficiency.

Cuddy didn't know what to chalk up his lack of fury to. He hadn't really held back with Chase, Foreman and the other doctors in Princeton, and even his doctors and surgeons here.

_Maybe it's because he has a puzzle that he doesn't want taken away from him? _Cuddy considered. It's possible he feared blowing his chance at taking it on, in whatever fashion he would be allowed. He needed medicine like other people needed air.

_Or maybe it's because it's me?_ Cuddy thought vainly. She had noted he was softer with her, whereas in the past, he'd never been shy about giving her hell over professional and personal failures and flaws. This was also her workplace and he'd expressed more than once that he didn't want to mess with her situation here.

Whatever the reason, he was definitely interested in the case.

Cuddy watched him lean back in the chair so he could see into the patient's room. He just stared.

"Find out," he said without pleasantries. "And see if they'll let you inspect the home."

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

He shook his head slightly, brow furrowed, "I don't know."


	121. Chapter 121

**Part 121**

It was four o'clock in the morning and Cuddy was alone in bed.

She and House had gone to bed together around ten, but he was no longer with her. Running her hand across the covers, she noted that they were cool and glanced to see that his prosthetic and crutch were also gone.

With no light on in the bathroom, she suspected he was probably downstairs. He'd been preoccupied ever since he'd looked at the file on her young diabetes patient. Something about it bothered him.

Earlier, he'd played a little on his guitar. Then he'd spent time laying in the bed still in the dining room, tossing the tennis ball into the air.

His preoccupation had fascinated Rachel. But Cuddy had taken her aside shortly after they arrived home and told her that House needed quiet time because he was working on an important puzzle.

For the most part, her daughter had left him alone, only asking him a couple questions over the course of the evening, and then requested a goodnight kiss before bed. He'd given her one then went right back to tossing the ball into the air.

Cuddy had thought he'd spend the entire night there, but he'd surprised her by coming upstairs when she did, cleaning up alongside her then sliding under the covers and spooning at her back.

Rising, Cuddy slipped on her robe and made her way downstairs. She paused when she saw him sitting at the piano. He wasn't looking at the keys, though, just out the window. A tumbler of scotch sat atop the instrument, but looked to be untouched. His expression, in profile, was unreadable.

Easing forward, Cuddy thought to alert him to her presence, but he'd already known she was there. Bright blue eyes turned to her before she could take the full first step. She smiled at him.

"Bed's cold without you," she said, pulling her robe tighter around her as she crossed the distance. The floors sure were. She should have put on socks.

"Grab the blanket," he said, pointing to the throw on the back of the couch. She did and came and settled beside him on the bench. He helped situate the soft tapestry around her shoulders.

He looked at her then, eyes taking in her face.

"You're a stunning woman."

It was stated as fact, not subjectively.

"Thank you," Cuddy said softly.

He smiled then looked out the window again. Cuddy could see his mind working behind his eyes.

"It's not diabetes," he said after a few minutes.

Cuddy frowned. She might not be a genius, but she could diagnosis the disease. As an endocrinologist, it was one that she had specific experience with.

"House, it's diabetes."

"It's not _just_ diabetes," he clarified, the lines in his brow deepening with a frown of his own.

"What are you thinking?"

He shook his head, just like he had earlier in the day, and repeated the same words as he'd said then. "I don't know."

He looked at her and she saw his frustration with the elusiveness of the answers he was seeking. It was an expression she'd seen many times before.

"How can I help?" she asked on instinct, and in a sincere desire to help both him and her patient.

"Get me information. I need data."

"I have a meeting with the parents in the morning to review Stephen's history again, as well as their older son's."

"Brett."

Cuddy nodded but was surprised House had remembered the name. He rarely did that, disliking the implied personalization of the patient.

"I'll ask them if you can sit in, if you'd like," she said.

He shook his head. "I'd like to give you some questions to include in the review."

"Okay," Cuddy agreed, knowing his desire to maintain distance unless necessary. Plus the medical license situation could complicate things. She was already wading into territory that a medical board could frown on. Which reminded her…

"I called Stacy yesterday before I left the office," she said softly.

His expression shifted from one type of frown to another. This new one held a question.

"I asked her to see if there was a way to free you up for consults," she explained. "After the Princeton case, I thought the medical board might be willing to at least do that and I don't want to jeopardize the future of your license with cases like this one."

"It's you I'm jeopardizing—" he began but she cut him off.

"It's in a gray area," she said. It was partially true, but there were more important things than her medical license even. "I want to help this kid, House. He's lost a brother to this disease and despite the brave face he's putting on, he's scared he's going to die, too. His parents are beside themselves with worry, wondering if history is repeating itself."

Finding House's hand, Cuddy locked her fingers with his.

"You see something in this case, House, and you don't see something unless there _is_ something," she stated plainly, "I want this kid to have the benefit of what I know you can do."

"And if I don't find the answer?"

It was a legitimate question. He didn't always find the answer to the puzzle. Sometimes it came too late, or was just plain wrong. But she knew he'd do his best, and he was better at it than anyone else in the world.

"You do your best," she told him. "No one, not me or _you_, has the right to ask for or expect more."

He looked away from her, tucked his chin against his chest.

"That's how you've always seen me professionally. Even when I've been wrong and patients have died."

"Yes," Cuddy said, smiling at his observation. "Your specialty is in solving cases that no one else can. The fact you try is as important as your successes because by the time they get to you, everyone else has given up. You represent a chance, even if its the last one, to find an answer."

"That's why you hired me," he said, eyes finding hers in the night shadows.

"I knew what you could do, if you were allowed to do it the way you _needed_ to."

He smiled. "You let me get away with a lot."

"I know," she said.

His eyes brightened with amusement.

"What are you willing to let me get away with right now?" he asked.

"You mean _right now_?"

He nodded.

Holding his gaze, she smiled and told him the truth.

"Anything."


	122. Chapter 122

**Part 122**

"I miss my cane."

Cuddy looked up from straightening up her notes on the podium to see House standing on the top level of the lecture hall. She had just finished up and the attendees were moving around him to get to the exit.

"This damned crutch chafes," he added, loudly in the direction of a student who was staring pointedly at him. The student quickly averted his eyes and followed his classmates.

Cuddy smiled. "Have you talked to Carla?" she asked as she gathered her things.

"She says I can have it back when I learn to walk again … without the crutch," he said. "Not sure that makes much sense. I would hope I don't need a cane or crutch once I learn to walk."

"Some people consider them stylish, whether they're needed or not," she noted as she mounted the stairs. She walked slowly toward him. "I seem to recall that you have a few that would be considered _very_ stylish."

He cocked his head and looked at her. "Does it seem strange to see me without one?"

"Sort of," Cuddy answered. "I remember you without it. But I've known you longer with it."

"Yeah, it's weird," he pronounced, turned to follow her out into the hall after she passed him.

Once in the hall, Cuddy walked beside him, keeping the pace a comfortable one for him. He was doing remarkably well, walking a lot more than the doctors and physical therapists had expected, but they didn't want him to overdo it. She didn't either.

"What did you find out for me?" he asked as they headed to the elevator.

"From the Gallaghers?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy sighed. "Nothing much new on the medical histories."

"That we know of," he said, adding with a look in her direction, "Everybody lies, remember?"

She couldn't argue. That axiom had been proven, ironically, true more often than not.

"Were you able to get access to their home?"

"No, I was paged before I could ask," Cuddy said. "But I did find out their occupations."

"She's a stay-at-home mom," House said before she could offer information.

Eyebrows raised, Cuddy glanced at him at they entered the elevator. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," he replied, which meant he wasn't going to tell her what led him to deduce it.

As the doors on the lift closed, Cuddy told him what else she learned. "The father is self-employed. He runs a pest control business he inherited from his father-in-law."

House went unnaturally still beside her. She felt the shift in the air around him. She saw him gazing downward, his eyes locked on the floor. No matter how many times she saw him go into that intensified analytical mode, Cuddy suspected she would never stop being amazed.

And as suddenly as it began, it shifted to something else. Concern.

"What?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just lifted the crutch and jabbed at the button for the pediatrics floor, where Stephen's room was.

"House?"

"Is the father running the business out of the home?"

"Yes," Cuddy answered.

House's expression turned grim.

"Get access to both the living and business areas, vehicles, storage facilities. Wherever he's keeping the pesticides."

"You're thinking some sort of poisoning?" Cuddy asked, somewhat confused.

House nodded, met her gaze. "You're looking for something containing pyrinuron." he said. "In the late '70s, some people tried to off themselves by taking the rodenticide. But instead of dying, they gave themselves diabetes. There were reports of accidental poisonings that caused the same conditions, even in younger patients."

The elevator stopped to let several people on.

"House," Cuddy began, ignoring the car's new occupants. "That might explain the diabetes itself but it would not explain our inability to—"

House looked at her sharply, silencing her until they were exiting on the pediatrics floor. Once outside the elevator, he directed her aside, away from where anyone could hear.

He spoke low, his eyes locked with hers.

"Cuddy, accidentally too much of the stuff at once and the kid's dead. Accidentally too little and the kid's in the emergency room getting a double-shot of activated charcoal and a chaser of niacin for his trouble. This kid's been exposed enough to induce the condition without setting off alarms with any of his doctors, while continued exposure messes with his system, necessitating hospital stays here and there until everything balances out again. Out of the toxic environment, out of the body." House paused then and looked grave. "It's not out of the body."

His tone was leading and Cuddy felt a cold chill run down her spine.

"You're thinking this is … _deliberate_?" Cuddy whispered in horrified disbelief.

House's look said it all. He glanced around again and made sure they were still alone before he gave her a direction that made her hair stand on end.

"Ask the father for the keys, not the mother. And don't let her know you're doing it."


	123. Chapter 123

**Part 123**

When she returned to the hospital from her pesticide search expedition, Cuddy found House at the nurse's station outside Stephen Gallagher's room.

He was wearing a white coat and sitting on the stool, his good leg propped up on the counter. His prosthetic was leaned against the lower shelves while he played the handheld video gaming system she'd bought him — at least that's what it looked like to anyone passing by.

But Cuddy knew better. His real attention was on her patient and the activity in that room. His gaze strayed from the screen to there several times in the few minutes she studied him before alerting him to her presence.

"We found it," she said, moving up beside him. It wasn't something she was happy about, and he expressed no excitement in knowing she'd found what he'd expected.

"Was it in the original packaging or an innocuous canister labeled 'cornmeal'?" he asked, looking back to the game.

"The latter," Cuddy said. "The lab confirmed the contents. How did you know?"

"What better way to hide it. It looks like cornmeal," he said. "And Mommy Dearest does all the cooking so no one would notice it smells like peanuts. Since she's been here, she's been sneaking the kid little cakes or cookies in a display of maternal sympathy for his being stuck with an undoubtedly unappetizing hospital meal plan."

House frowned when he crashed his car in the game, but he continued speaking.

"It works out perfectly for her. She's a hero to him and a poor, worried mother to everyone else. She gets all the praise and sympathy, while her kid suffers."

Munchausen by Proxy. It was a very rare condition, but Cuddy didn't doubt House's diagnosis. She hated that she'd not seen the monster hidden behind the veneer of a caring, attentive mother. It was sickening.

House glanced toward Stephen's room again. "Any chance of getting a security camera in there?"

"I don't know," Cuddy answered truthfully. She'd love to just do it. Back in Princeton, in the old days, House would have just done it, not even asked.

"That's okay," he said. "I've had a camera recording for the last half hour."

Cuddy looked at him in shock. "What? Where?"

"An anonymous gift of a teddy-cam," he said.

Cuddy looked and there it was, a teddy bear sitting innocuously on the window sill, aimed right at the patient's bed.

"I may have accidentally hit record before having the nurse deliver it," he said while she was looking. "But you may want to check with hospital counsel to see if you can set up something official. Not so sure teddy-cam is admissible in court."

He was playing the game again.

"I don't know whether to kiss you or kick you out of that chair," Cuddy said even though she knew which she really wanted to do.

"Well, if you kick me out of this chair, I'll lose my prime vantage point to see Joan Crawford in action," he said, then added in a lower tone, "She stepped out a bit ago and now appears to be waiting for shift change to deliver her nasty little treat."

He looked up from the game. "Kiss then?"

"Yes, but later," she said, her eyes now on the room. Apprehension filled her at the thought of it happening without someone seeing.

"Don't look," House told her. "Let me do it, Cuddy. I'll tell you when to go in as his caring doctor and put the _kibosh_ on the unapproved morsel."

"And if she fights?" Cuddy asked, concerned that the woman might try if she realize she's caught.

"You play it right and she won't suspect. And even if she does, her pathology won't allow her to do it. She's here for attention, but not that kind," House replied then jerked his chin in the direction of the other side of the station. "But just in case, The Hulk has your back."

Looking over, Cuddy saw the nursing assistant Jonathan. He nodded at her when he noticed her attention. She smiled in return.

"You've thought of everything," she commented.

"I try," he shrugged then fleetingly glanced again toward the room. "She's going for her purse."

He pretended to look back at the game, but Cuddy saw him shift subtly to use his peripheral vision. She waited, holding her breath.

"Breathe, Cuddy. You won't do him any good if you faint," he said then after a moment, whispered softly, "Go."


	124. Chapter 124

**Part 124**

The instant Cuddy walked into her home, she set down her satchel, hung up her coat, and sought out her daughter. She didn't have to look far. Rachel was already running toward her as she entered the living room.

Smiling, Cuddy dropped to her knees and hugged her daughter tightly, tears that had been threatening all day welling once more.

It had been one of the worst days in her career as a doctor.

Finding out that Stephen Gallagher's mother had been poisoning him intentionally to gain attention and sympathy for herself, and knowing that Stephen's brother Brett had died under similar circumstances…

Cuddy had managed to intercept the poisoned cookie before Stephen could eat it. She'd managed to do it without alerting the woman to their suspicions, promising to send him an approved treat in replacement. She'd offered Stephen her sympathy over the need to control his diet while in the hospital and even managed to fake empathizing with the mother in wanting to give her child something special.

Cuddy had kept herself poised and professional throughout the interaction and all the way out of the room to the nurse's station, where the charge nurse discreetly bagged the cookie and took it personally to the lab. Then, without even looking at House, she'd headed straight to the nearest employee bathroom, washed her hands viciously, repeatedly until the need to vomit overcame her and she bolted into the nearest stall.

House found her there, kneeling before the toilet, hands braced on the sides as she heaved until she literally had nothing more to expel from her body. He hadn't been able to crouch beside her because of his leg, but he'd stood as near as he could.

His gentle "I know" had been comforting but it had almost caused her to break down into sobs. She just could not comprehend how a mother could do that to her child. She knew things like that happened in the world, but to be confronted with it directly had been more unsettling that she could have ever imagined.

All she'd been able to do was think about Rachel, getting home and hugging her close, kissing her little cheeks and telling her how much she loved her.

House had seen her need before she could voice it, telling her that as soon as the official stuff was done, they were going home. She hadn't argued, and appreciated that he'd stayed with her while she and the police broke the news to the father about what they'd found in the home and in the cookie.

The poor man had been devastated. As understanding dawned, he _had_ broken down in sobs and requested that his wife be arrested immediately.

House had radiated pure fury when he'd looked at Stephen's mother as she was led away in handcuffs, no doubt imagining the cruelty of his own father as he did.

Once that situation was in the hands of the authorities and hospital counsel, Cuddy had called in one of her colleagues to take over the case for the day. Hearing what had happened, they'd immediately taken the chart and told her to go home.

So Cuddy was home, on her knees again, this time in her living room, holding her daughter and trying not to lose control of her emotions.

She knew Rachel wouldn't understand if her mother suddenly started sobbing and Cuddy didn't know how to explain why without introducing her daughter to a world of such heinous cruelty. She was too young to grasp the concept, too young to be told something so horrible.

So Cuddy just hugged her, kissed both her cheeks then hugged her again.

"I really missed you today, sweetie," she managed to say, her voice breathless with both joy and sorrow. It was strange how the heart could feel both emotions at the same time.

"You came home early," Rachel noted as she hugged Cuddy just as tightly.

"I did," Cuddy said and eased her hold when Rachel pushed back from her.

Those big and bright blue eyes looked at her a moment before she declared, "Mommy, you're sad."

Tears slipped free then. Cuddy both nodded and shook her head but the words she wanted to say were caught behind the lump in her throat. Thankfully, House wasn't in the same predicament. She heard his knapsack hit the couch before he spoke to Rachel.

"Yer ma 'ad a bad day, ye bilge rat, but seein' ya 'as made it better," he said in that silly pirate voice.

Rachel smiled at him then hugged Cuddy again. Her little arms squeezed tight when she whispered, "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too," Cuddy whispered, finally finding her voice through the suffocating well of emotion.

She felt House's hand touch the crown of her head, caressing. She looked up at him as moved around behind Rachel. His eyes were so full of understanding.

"Go play with her. Doctor's orders," he said softly.

Cuddy smiled at him.

"Thank you."


	125. Chapter 125

**Part 125**

It wasn't until Cuddy was alone, nestled in a hot bath, that she gave into her tears.

Spending the afternoon and evening with Rachel had quelled them and that initial overwhelming need to sob but the darker emotions of the day were still demanding their due. So she cried quietly as she soaked in the hot water.

It grieved Cuddy that they could not reverse the condition for the Gallagher boy. He would be saddled with diabetes for the rest of his life, but she was hopeful they would be able to manage the disease. But there were question marks on other health fronts. In the coming week, he would be seeing specialists in oncology and internal medicine. He would be undergoing organ function tests to see if there were any lurking issues. And he would probably be monitored for the rest of his life.

_If only we'd caught it sooner…_

"It's not your fault."

The words were spoken softly by the man leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. She hadn't heard him come in despite the noise the crutches made when he walked. He was dressed for bed, wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. The right pant leg had been shortened and she could see the compression sock and bandages on the stump. He had cleaned up earlier, while she put Rachel to bed.

"I know."

And she did know. It was always difficult to accept the limitations of medicine but there were times when it felt terribly wrong to do so. It was the unfairness of it all, the utter cruelty visited on that boy and his brother. Someone should be able to do more. If it hadn't been for House…

Looking at him, she said softly, "I'm so glad you are here."

"Cuddy—"

She shook her head and cut him off.

"Please don't tell me I would have found it," she said. "We both know it's highly doubtful that I would have reached the conclusion on my own. I would have seen sweets, not poison."

His eyes held hers. "That's because you can't imagine someone doing that to their child."

He was right, which is why she'd trusted him in the entire situation. He saw things that others missed. He saw things because of his own experiences. He didn't have to imagine an abusive parent; he'd had one. His perspective of the world had been a much darker one from an early age, so he recognized the monsters before she did.

Cuddy was convinced she'd seen evil today.

"I still can't imagine it," she said honestly.

"That's not a weakness," House said as he moved from the door, over to the stool she'd bought for him to use in the tub.

While he sat, Cuddy drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. He sighed deeply while he held her gaze.

"Cuddy, this boy and his brother were failed long before they went into any hospital. They were failed by birth and every day of their lives until today."

"Their father didn't know," Cuddy said softly, remembering the genuine grief, the shock she'd seen in the man.

"That is his failure to own. It is not yours."

Cuddy looked away from House. She knew he was right. But she couldn't put it on the father either, and she told House so.

"I'm not saying it is his fault. We know who is at fault. But he will feel responsible for missing what was happening right in front of him, daily, for years. He will grieve it as a failure, one that cost him one son, and nearly another," House paused until she looked at him again. "He will find no absolution in his innocence, Cuddy. And you can't grant it."

Cuddy's first instinct was to deny the accusation but the words that had formed on her tongue as he spoke only affirmed it: _He shouldn't blame himself._ She'd almost said it, but House had seen it coming. He knew her too well, and she loved him for it.

"Be the boy's doctor, Cuddy," he said softly, "but leave the rest alone. It's not your burden to bear."


	126. Chapter 126

**Part 126**

It was nearly midnight and Cuddy was still wide awake, staring at the bedroom ceiling.

"I can't sleep," she confessed on a sigh, but only because she knew House wasn't asleep either.

"I noticed."

He didn't sound irritated or angry, but Cuddy felt bad anyway.

Her preoccupation with the day's events shouldn't keep him from resting. And, even though their talk earlier had helped her, she still struggled with feeling guilty and responsible about things she shouldn't. She also kept wanting to get up and go check on Rachel, an impulse she hadn't had since her daughter was a toddler.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm keeping you awake."

He moved his hand from around her waist, bringing it up to caress her shoulder and pull her closer to him.

"It's okay. It was a rough day."

Cuddy tilted her head and peered up at him in the dark. The light from the window highlighted his profile. His eyes were closed.

"I keep thinking about Rachel," she confessed as she resettled. "I'm fighting this irrational need to go look in on her every five seconds."

House consoled her. "She's fine."

Cuddy sighed. "I know, but—"

"Maternal protective instincts are a biological imperative. And even if they weren't, I'd be concerned if you didn't feel the compulsion after what you saw today," he interjected.

Cuddy shuddered involuntarily at the memories of the day. House held her closer.

"I can't wrap my head around it, House," she whispered. "As a doctor, I understand the psychology of the illness, but as a mother … it doesn't make any sense."

"It never will, Cuddy," House said softly. "It's completely contrary to the ideological and ages-old definition of a mother's love, even a father's."

Cuddy looked up at him when he continued speaking.

"Mother's nurture and protect. Father's provide and protect. Those are the earliest constructs we learn," he expounded. "Nurturing and providing have become accepted as shared in most modern cultures, but protecting still falls to both. Anything that falls outside those constructs is an aberration that can't be reconciled in our minds."

House looked down at her, his eyes finding hers. "It's particularly irreconcilable when the direst threat to the child is the parent."

He hadn't said anything she hadn't already thought about or didn't already know but it helped to hear him say it aloud — validation was a powerful thing — but it also hurt to hear the painful note of experience in his voice.

John House may not have tried to literally end his son's life but, over the years, Cuddy had come to learn there was more than one kind of death a person could experience. The spirit and mind could be murdered while the body lived on. Psychological wounds lasted a lifetime and left unseen scars — and that's if they healed at all.

House bore too many of those scars. Cuddy wished she could heal them. She wanted to protect him, and Rachel, her sweet, little girl who'd survived the first days after her birth against all odds.

Seeing House smile, she asked, "What?"

"You get this look when you think about the kid. "

Cuddy smiled. "I do?"

"Yeah."

"You know you have special looks for her, too."

His expression was one of confusion, as if he'd never considered that he might look at her different than anyone else. "I do?"

Cuddy nodded. "Most of the time you look at her as if she's some strange and mystical creature that's crash-landed in your life," she told him and laughed softly when he frowned a bit. "Sometimes you seem fascinated. Other times you seem bewildered." Her voice softening, she continued, "But there are times when you watch her with a gentleness that reveals what you feel for her."

She watched his frown fade and his features smooth with affection — for Rachel and her. He didn't say anything but he didn't need to.

Shifting, Cuddy eased up until she could kiss him. He smiled at her when she pulled back. She returned the expression and decided to stop fighting the need to go check on her child.

"I'm going to peek in on Rachel," Cuddy said then kissed him again.

He let her go without a word, until she opened the door. He spoke then, his tone a mixture of amusement, affection and resignation that made her smile.

"Bring her in here so maybe we can all get some sleep."


	127. Chapter 127

**Part 127**

The normally two-and-half-hour drive from Baltimore to Princeton had turned into five.

Cuddy wished they had been able to take a commuter flight or the train from Penn Station, but the unexpected, late-afternoon call from Stacy Warner telling them she had secured a "highly favorable" plea deal had nixed those as possibilities, leaving driving as the only option.

Although he'd been doing well with his rehabilitation, House didn't need to sit for long periods in the same position, which had necessitated stops every twenty minutes so that he could move around a bit. At one point, in hopes of saving some driving time, he'd tried to stretch out in the backseat, but that hadn't worked out, so he'd returned to the front seat, pushed it all the way back and tried reclining. It took some pressure off his right hip, but not enough.

By the time they were heading into the Princeton Borough Court House, he was stiff and in a substantial amount of pain.

Stacy noticed immediately. Her features were cast in a stern frown.

"You look like hell," she said to House as he and Cuddy approached.

"Kinda feel like it," he countered then looked at Cuddy, "I need to lay down."

Cuddy nodded her understanding but Stacy quickly responded that there wasn't time for him to rest. She apologized but the extra drive time had put them too close to the hearing time.

"I can ask for a recess once we're in," Stacy offered. "One look at you and the judge is going to grant it."

House shook his head, said testily, "Let's just get this over with."

Cuddy heard the pain in his voice. His expression was as haggard as she'd seen it in some time. He was hurting worse than he'd been willing to say so far. He'd refused any medication other than ibuprofen.

Stacy scowled. "I know you feel horrible, Greg, but you cannot take that attitude into there. This judge wants to talk to you before he signs off on this deal, which means he has questions about whether or not it serves the best interests of the people."

"So he could change the terms?" Cuddy asked.

"He could change the sentencing, reject the deal altogether and send us back to renegotiate, or he could send it to trial," Stacy warned. "We don't want either of those things to happen. This is an incredibly good deal for you, Greg."

It had sounded great to Cuddy and House last night, igniting hope in both of them.

Under the deal, the remainder of his original sentence would be suspended because of police negligence over the tickets incident. Because of that suspension, House's having turned himself immediately after Wilson's death and his exemplary compliance with the terms of his conditional release, House would plead "no contest" to the flight-to-avoid-confinement charge. He would receive a sentence of two years probation, which he would be allowed to serve out in Baltimore under the supervision of the Maryland's Department of Public Safety's Parole and Probation Office. The prosecutor had already reached out to that department to secure their assistance.

Stacy had told them that the district attorney was extremely anxious to avoid a suit against the city and county for the injury House sustained in custody, especially after reviewing House's medical records from the stay in Princeton-Plainsboro, and then evaluating his current health situation and the potential costs to the state for his care.

In regards to the switching of dental records, the prosecutor had decided to leave that in the hands of the New Jersey State Medical Board after conferring with the family of the man whose records had been swapped. Stacy said she did not know what happened in that discussion exactly but that the family had requested no criminal charges be filed against House.

"I'll behave," House said.

"Good," Stacy replied.

Seeing House trembling, Cuddy suggested they continue their discussion inside. He could at least be out of the cold and sit down before he fell down.

As they headed toward the building's main entrance, Cuddy fell into step beside House, ready to offer him support if he needed it. They avoided the steps and took the ramp.

Stacy continued talking as they walked. "I'm still working on a case to present to the medical board," she said as they neared the doors. "But we'll discuss that later."

House nodded and limped his way into the warmth of the building. Cuddy continued walking with him, following Stacy as she led them to the court room.

Once there, House moved around to the defendant's table, while Cuddy drifted down the first row. From over the railing, she reached to help him shed his coat but he shook his head, which told her he was still cold.

After he sat, she did, too, and did a visual assessment of his condition. He looked miserable. He was perspiring and still trembling, which worried her. He needed something stronger than ibuprofen at this point, and to lay down. The drive had taxed him too much. He hadn't been ready for anything like that and she prayed it hadn't set back his recovery.

Leaning forward, Cuddy put her hand on his shoulder, asked, "Do you want something for the pain?"

He shook his head. "I'll wait."

She started to ask him if he'd reconsider the recess but the bailiff entered the courtroom and asked everyone to rise.


	128. Chapter 128

**Part 128**

As Cuddy got to her feet, she watched House struggle to get to his. His exhaustion and agony on full display as he pushed himself up by placing both hands on the table in front of him.

The judge took a seat behind the raised dais and cast a worried look over the top of his glasses at House. He then glanced to Stacy.

"Ms. Warner, is your client well enough to continue these proceedings?"

Stacy tensed at the question, probably expecting House to answer for himself in a less than cordial fashion. Cuddy feared it, too, but thankfully, he held his tongue.

"Dr. House just arrived, Your Honor," Stacy replied. "It was a lengthy drive and he is still recovering from his recent surgery."

"If you request a recess, I will grant it," the judge offered.

"Thank you, Your Honor, but my client wishes to proceed at this time."

The judge's expression was dubious but he proceeded anyway, ordering everyone to be seated before directing the prosecution to present the terms of the plea bargain. It was a formality since the judge already knew the terms, but it was needed for the official court records, or so Stacy had told her.

Cuddy's attention was on House as the district attorney outlined the deal. He had sat when the judge gave permission but it wasn't helping his predicament. She had a mind to step in as his doctor and have Stacy request the break so House could regroup. She held off because she understood his desire to have an answer and see an end to the legal limbo. She wanted the same, but she wasn't going to let him torture himself much longer. She couldn't and didn't when she saw his hands suddenly reach under the table and grasped at what remained of his thigh

Cuddy was on her feet instantly, drawing the attention of everyone in the court.

One look at House and Stacy was interrupting the prosecutor and requesting the recess.

House started to protest. Cuddy saw the words forming on his lips, but she silenced him with a clipped "shut up." She didn't wait for the judge's ruling before moving around the railing. The bailiff's moved to stop her but she stopped them with an authoritative "I'm his doctor."

The agony in House's face when he looked up at Cuddy tore at her heart. She saw frustration, too, with her, for stopping the proceedings.

"What good will it do you if you give yourself a heart attack?" she asked as she pressed her fingers to the pulse point and felt his heart racing.

He didn't answer the question, just told her he needed to get the prosthetic off.

Cuddy looked at Stacy and asked if the room could be cleared. To get the prosthetic off, she was going to have to get him out of his pants and he didn't need an audience for that. Stacy formalized the request but the judge recommended use of his chambers instead.

Stacy thanked him while Cuddy glanced at House. "Do you need help?"

He paused a moment then nodded.

Cuddy started to turn to the bailiffs to request assistance but a couple of familiar faces caught her eye when she righted herself.

Chase and Foreman.

"Get over here," she directed and they moved as if they still worked for her. They came around and helped House get to his feet, then half-carried him to the judge's chambers, following the bailiffs and the jurist in his flowing black robe.

House winced every time he took a step, telling her she needed to get a look at the stump once she got the prosthetic off.

Chase and Foreman lowered him carefully onto the leather couch in the room dominated by a desk and shelves of dark wood. It smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and paper.

Looking at Chase, Cuddy told him to get her bag off the bench in the courtroom. "It has his medicine," she explained.

He didn't have to be told twice. He moved quickly to retrieve the bag while she helped House out of his coat.

"You're going to rest," she fussed at him. "I know you want this done, but your health comes first."

"I'm tired of waiting," he told her.

"I know, but don't be an idiot."

Chase returned with her bag and she set it beside House. She reached inside to find the small black pouch that held alcohol swabs, syringes, and vials of ketorolac. She passed it off to Chase to prep a dose.

Meanwhile, House was reaching for the button on his jeans and lowering his zipper. He was in so much pain he didn't realize there were others still present. Foreman ushered them out, but the judge said he, the prosecutor and Stacy had to remain due to court rules.

They all politely turned their backs as Cuddy helped House with lower his pants then remove the prosthetic. Once the limb was out of the way, she pulled his jeans back up his left leg to give him some semblance of modesty, then laid his coat across his groin to further shield him.

"Cuddy," he groaned as she removed the compression sock and bandages. The stump was swollen more than normal. There were no signs of abrasions or bruising, though.

"I know. We need to ice it," she said then took the syringe and swab that Chase held out to her. She cleaned the spot then injected the strong NSAID directly into his thigh. It was always the quickest way to ease the pain, usually taking only a few minutes to begin working.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes falling closed when it began to take effect.

"Dr. Cuddy, I can get what you need from the hospital," Chase offered.

"Thank you," she said then glanced at House. He was beyond exhausted.

"This needs to wait," she said, raising her voice to address the court officers on the other side of the room.

"No," House protested, eyes suddenly open and on hers, full of fire.

She held his gaze without flinching, said sternly, "Yes."

On the heels of her assertion, the judge declared that they would reconvene in the morning.

Cuddy heard it but her attention remained on House. She reached and laid a hand on his damp brow. He wasn't running a fever. He was cold.

"I'll get us a room nearby so you can rest," she told him softly, eyes pleading with him. "We'll get the swelling down and the pain under control, then come back to this first thing tomorrow."

He looked at her for several long moments as if he might protest. But he didn't. Instead, he shut his eyes and nodded.


	129. Chapter 129

**Part 129**

"Is he all right?"

Seated at the small table in the hotel room, Cuddy heard the deep concern in Stacy's voice. She shared it.

The injection at the courthouse had only really taken the edge off and worn off quicker than usual. She'd tried to talk House into going to the hospital, but he'd refused. Chase had stepped up, though, and brought an IV setup to the hotel so she could put House on a slow drip of pain medication. It was technically against the rules, but Chase was an old hat at breaking those, thanks to his years of working with House.

"He wasn't ready for that drive. It was too much, too soon," Cuddy told Stacy.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," the attorney apologized. "I wish I had gotten word sooner, so you could have caught a flight or the train."

Cuddy watched House sleeping.

"I don't know that it would have been any better," she said. "He wouldn't have been able to move around on the plane, and the train might have been just as bad, or worse with the other passengers up and moving around. And it's not exactly the smoothest mode of transportation for someone who has issues with balance."

"Well, I should have at least asked for another day to give you some regrouping time once you got here," Stacy continued to kick herself. "I was just anxious to get this to the judge and get it approved. It's such a good deal for Greg and I know that he has enough to worry about without this continuing to hang over his head."

Cuddy looked over at her friend and saw her watching House intently.

_Loving House is a lifelong commitment, even after a relationship ends_, Cuddy mused. If she didn't understand that herself, it would have been infuriating to see his ex gazing at him with undeniable fondness.

"Let yourself off the hook, Stacy," Cuddy said and recognized the irony of how House had recently said something similar to her. "We're both doctors and should have either said something to you or planned the drive better."

Stacy met Cuddy's gaze, scoffed. "Do you honestly think Greg would have told you even if the damned thing was falling off?"

Cuddy had to smile at that. No, he would't have, but she saw that part of him every day and knew that it wasn't.

"He's stubborn," Cuddy said needlessly. "And the 'house' arrest is getting to him."

"And to you?" Stacy asked.

Cuddy shook her head. It hadn't bothered her having him with her a lot, but it had bothered her that he was frustrated with not having any freedom. His recovery had only exacerbated the issue for him, too.

"I'm okay. I just worry about him," she confessed, looking back to see House still sleeping. "The idleness…"

"I know," Stacy picked up the conversation. "He can't do it for long. It eats at him. Which is why as soon as this part of his case can be wrapped up, I'm going to hit his medical license case full bore."

"You think the judge is going to approve the deal?" Cuddy asked, hope sparking again at hearing the confidence in Stacy's tone.

"I think he will," Stacy said. "If Greg goes in there with contrition and the maturity I've seen in him since he came back. Unless this judge is a real jerk, then he's going to approve it. What happened today, if nothing else, backs up the medical aspects of the plea and also demonstrates his willingness to comply with the court."

Stacy looked back to House. "I can tell you that his helping that kid in Baltimore will help his case with the medical board," she said with a glance at Cuddy. "I know he didn't want me digging around in that because he wants to protect you, but what he did was extraordinary."

"I know," Cuddy agreed. House had saved that boy's life and was helping to put a _real_ criminal behind bars.

"The board should know that," Stacy continued. "I'm talking to the counsel's office at Johns Hopkins to see what I can do to make that happen in a way that shields both of you. Oh, and that package from Wilson—"

"Cuddy?"

Although Cuddy definitely wanted to hear about what was in that package, House took precedence at the moment. With a look of apology to Stacy, she rose and went over to the bed. She eased down on the mattress beside him and met his gaze.

"Hey, feeling any better?" she asked, reaching up to touch his brow then draw her fingers slowly through his hair.

He nodded. "Hungry."

She smiled at that, moving her hand along his jaw. "What do you want?"

"Chinese."

"The usual?"

"Yeah," he replied then looked at her in apology. "And I need to pee."

"You want the second crutch, or the prosthetic?" she asked, not sure if he was ready to subject his stump to the pressure again just yet.

"Crutches."

"Okay," she told him with a pat to his chest. She went over by their overnight bags and grabbed the assistive devices.

He was already trying to sit up by the time she returned, but was struggling. The medication was having its effect and he was apparently still uncomfortably sore. She should have had Chase bring a wheelchair because now she was worried about the journey to the bathroom. Of course, that's why she'd insisted that he take the bed nearest the facility.

"Here, let me," she said as she hooked her arm through his and helped haul him up into a sitting position.

Seeing him glance in Stacy's direction, Cuddy immediately followed his gaze to see that the other woman was looking away from them, and looked to have been before he'd noticed her presence.

Neither of them said anything as Cuddy unhooked him from the IV then helped him with the crutches. She wasn't tall or particularly strong, but between the two of them, managed to get him up.

She moved out of the way and let him slowly, and precariously, make the short trip to the bathroom. She followed him, staying out of his way but ready to step up if needed. It wasn't until he was inside the room that he asked for assistance.

The room was designed to accommodate people with disabilities, but he was too unsteady to take care of everything involved. In fact, it was about all he could do to remain standing.

"You should sit," she told him because he had gotten better at that but he cut her a look.

"I'd prefer not to end up with my ass wedged between the wall and toilet."

Cuddy nodded in understanding. Were he to end up down there, she would need more help than Stacy's to get him up. That meant a phone call and waiting for help to arrive.

"Okay," she said then eased around in front of him.

He watched her as she unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper. He started to take things from there but the moment he released the handle on the crutch, he wobbled, causing him to grip it again.

"Gonna need a little more help," he said then looked at her. "How much of that did you give me?"

"Enough you wouldn't be feeling any pain for a while," she replied with a smile and proceeded to help with the rest.

Of course, the moment she had him in hand, he couldn't go.

"Performance anxiety," he said and Cuddy scoffed. "I don't think you've _ever_ had performance anxiety, of _any_ sort."

But just in case, she turned her head into his shoulder. "Just tell me if the aim is off."

"It's good," he said after a few moments when his bladder finally released.

She heard as much and just waited for him to finish. It was oddly intimate until he spoke.

"Give it a shake."

Cuddy cut him a look. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," he said and she saw a smirk on his mouth.

"Ass," she said as she complied then proceeded to arrange him. "Are you sure you don't want a hand job while I'm at it?"

"Really, Cuddy? My ex-girlfriend's in the next room," he mocked then instructed, "To the left."

"I know," she said, adding when she began to refasten his jeans, "You know, I either gave you too much or not enough of that stuff if you're able to play this game."

When she looked up at him, his expression wasn't cocky or silly, just tired and fond.

"Thank you, Cuddy."

Cuddy gave him a gentle smile.

"You're welcome," she said. "Let's get you back to bed and I'll order something to eat, okay?"

"Okay."


	130. Chapter 130

**Part 130**

After a late lunch, Cuddy walked Stacy out.

"I'll be here first thing in the morning," Stacy said as she opened the door to her car, "We'll review things again before we go to the courthouse."

When Cuddy nodded, Stacy ducked down and put her briefcase on the passenger seat, then straightened and looked at Cuddy again.

"I'm not letting them put him in jail, Lisa," she said. "I don't care if he has to do five or ten years probation, I won't see him trying to deal with _that_ while in a prison."

"I'm not sure he could," Cuddy said softly. "He's a tough, obstinate bastard, but prison… He hasn't talked much about what happened there, but I don't know that he'd survive it again. Especially not in his physical condition."

"What's he looking at realistically before he's regained his physical independence? Honest assessment, not his hopeful one."

Cuddy was blunt, as requested.

"A minimum of another year and a half before he's fitted with a final prosthetic, which means multiple temporary limbs in the interim. Until then, physical therapy every day, and he'll have to keep it up, at a less intense pace, after." Cuddy paused then stated plainly, "The state won't be able to give him what he needs. It'll be substandard care at best and his situation is already complicated by the physiological issues of not doing therapy with the leg when he had it."

Stacy frowned.

"He is having to retrain some muscles to be used properly, not as compensators," Cuddy explained. "He's doing well, but today may have been a setback. But we won't know until we talk to his physical therapist. I need to get him back to Baltimore."

"Driving again?"

"I am going to call her and find out what she'd recommend," Cuddy said. "One thing's for certain, we'll be doing it differently."

Stacy nodded her understanding then moved around the door. Cuddy suddenly found herself being hugged. She returned the embrace then smiled when Stacy pulled back and gave her shoulders a squeeze.

"Take care of him, and yourself," Stacy said. "Let me know if you need anything tonight,"

"I will," Cuddy said and watched Stacy slip into the car and close the door behind her.

Cuddy went back inside the room once Stacy was gone.

House was where she'd left him, reclined on the bed, the television on but the volume down. They had managed to make a pretty good cradle with the pillows, taking the pressure off his hip and the stump, or at least redirected it to something more comfortable.

Moving over to join him, she asked him if he was hurting.

"Yeah, some." His tone told her he didn't want to admit it.

"How bad?" she pressed. "Give me a number."

"Six."

She wished it was less.

"Let's get you back on the IV so you'll sleep tonight."

He didn't protest, just held still while she hooked him back up. The fact he didn't say anything but let her do it suggested the number was probably higher than a six.

Once she'd resumed the drip, she picked up their overnight bags and set them on the second bed.

"Good thing you packed those," he said as she dug out his pajamas and her own night clothes. She laid them out then took their toiletries bags to the bathroom. When she came back out, she offered him a sponge bath.

"In a while," he said and patted the mattress beside him.

Smiling, Cuddy joined him on the bed, careful to not jostle him too much. He held out his arm in welcome and she laid her head on his shoulder while he turned up the volume on the show he was watching.

Hearing medical jargon, she looked to the screen to a show she'd seen advertised but sworn to never watch — a group of supposed elite physicians dispensing health, fitness, and beauty advice.

"Oh my God, you actually watch this?" she scowled, looking at the ridiculously photogenic people wearing scrubs and white coats, as if they were in a hospital or doctors office and not a television studio.

"Shhh, I'm trying to learn how to be a TV doctor just in case they don't give me my license back. It'd have to be on a soap, of course, because these people _actually_ are doctors," he said, then asked, "Think I have the face for it?"

"You have the face for it," Cuddy laughed, "But you wouldn't last ten minutes with the network censors. Come to think of it, I don't think you'd make it through a script reading."

"Why not?" he asked, and it was playful.

"One medical inaccuracy and it'd be all over," she said with a smile. "You might not practice medicine like anyone else on the planet, but you _are_ a stickler for truth."

"You mean we can't do a complete brain-slash-personality transplant? They did it on Prescription Passion. It's the only thing that explains how Lucy became Sarah, but still looked Lucy and only acted like Sarah," he countered, drawing another laugh from Cuddy.

"Prescription Passion is not the New England Journal of Medicine," she said.

Cuddy's phone rang on the nightstand next to House. He lowered the volume on the TV then set the remote aside and picked up the buzzing device. Seeing the call was from "Home," he answered it.

"Is this me bilge rat?"

The pirate voice, again. Cuddy knew one day it would grow old for Rachel, but for now, she loved it and he indulged her. When it continued, she knew it was Rachel on the line and not Janice.

"Aye, ye ma is wit' me. Ye want'a talk to 'er?" he asked then responded, "Aye, matey."

Cuddy took the phone when he handed it to her, and smiled when Rachel excitedly launched into a story about her day.


	131. Chapter 131

In case anyone is wondering, I do quite a bit of research as I write with the goal of making sure the medical and legal scenarios are plausible. I have found out a lot about amputation and what all's involved in recovering from such a major change in a person's life. It has been enlightening.

* * *

**Part 131**

Immediately upon calling the session into order, the judge instructed everyone to take their seats then looked pointedly at House, clearly assessing his condition.

After yesterday, Cuddy didn't blame him. But House looked better today. His pain was under control, and he'd foregone the artificial limb for the morning. The stump was still sore enough from yesterday that he didn't want the distraction of the discomfort.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the judge had the court reporter read back through the transcript from the previous day then called upon the prosecutor to resume with the reading of the plea agreement.

Cuddy watched House through it and listened as Stacy assured the judge that House agreed to the terms in the plea. When the judge spoke to House directly, Cuddy watched him start to stand. The judge waved him back down, but House pushed himself anyway, leaning on the crutches to balance himself.

Stacy tried to motion him to do as he was told but House shook it off and spoke to the judge.

"With respect, Your Honor, I prefer to stand to address the court."

"As you wish, Dr. House," the jurist said from his bench. "I have a couple questions before I make my ruling on this plea bargain that your attorney and the district attorney have agreed upon."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"You, of course, can decline to answer and I advise you to follow your attorney's lead in this matter."

House glanced at Stacy who nodded.

"I will."

"Dr. House, you have quite the reputation in the medical community. On one hand, most of your colleagues acknowledge you as a medical genius. On the other hand, they also find you a jerk. Your patients, I suspect, are of similar mind."

The judge paused, signaling House to respond. He did so, after looking down at the table for a moment.

"I am an arrogant, narcissistic, egregious ass," he said bluntly. "Anyone in this courtroom who knows me would agree with that, as would most of my patients."

"Even Dr. Cuddy?"

Hearing her name startled her, but Cuddy watched House stand a little taller when he answered.

"Especially her."

"And you're proud of that, Dr. House?"

"No."

It was said softly and with humility, but he offered no further explanation. Cuddy didn't expect him to. It was one thing to acknowledge being an ass; it was something else entirely to get into the psychology of why. That would be dredging up things he still wasn't comfortable talking to her about, much less in an open courtroom in front of others.

"Dr. Cuddy."

This time she was being addressed, so she rose. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She hadn't expected to be talking to the judge and could not fathom why he would want to do so.

"Your Honor?" Her voice sounded stronger than she'd thought it would.

"It is my understanding that Dr. House's original conviction was for driving a car into your home. Is that correct?"

Resisting the urge to look at House, she answered with a succinct "Yes."

"And you filed the charges and took out the restraining order that led to his arrest?"

Cuddy replied affirmatively again, hating saying it aloud. She glanced at House when she answered, guilt stirring at knowing none of this would even be necessary if she hadn't filed those charges.

"Stop."

It wasn't the judge but House. He caught her gaze and shook his head. "You had every right."

"What was that, Dr. House?" the judge asked.

House turned his attention to the man on the dais, flanked but the U.S. and New Jersey flags.

"I told her to stop feeling guilty."

The judge hummed, looked back to Cuddy. "Is guilt the reason you have remained his physician and why you've taken on a custodial role in his release?"

"No, Your Honor," Cuddy replied.

"Some, including myself, find it interesting that you would choose to do both those things considering you were the party wronged in this whole affair."

Cuddy knew that was true. No one had directly stated it before, except Stacy and yet she'd understood what loving House meant. Now a stranger was looking for an explanation.

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy stated, "I have known Dr. House for many years, Your Honor. I have been his doctor for most of them."

"So I've gathered. But why would you do any of this for a man who could have taken your life, along with anyone else's in the home that day?"

"Because I know him," Cuddy said. "He is not a violent man."

"His actions would seem to indicate otherwise."

That was true and Cuddy didn't argue with the logical supposition. House would be the first to chew her out if she did.

"House does insane things, Your Honor," Cuddy said bluntly. "He has _always_ done insane things … but in regards to medicine, in order to save lives that everyone else has given up on. He had _never_ before that day given me or anyone else cause to believe he would act out in such a manner. And he has not given me cause since."

"So you believe it was an aberration and not a pathological behavior?"

"House is a pathological _ass_, but he _is not_ pathologically violent."

"And that's your judgment as his doctor?"

"As his doctor, as his former employer, as his friend … and as the woman who loves him," Cuddy stated without hesitation.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy saw House look at her, but she ignored him and kept her attention purposefully on the judge. If the man was waiting for her to flinch, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She wasn't going to look over at House all dreamy-eyed and naive, because she might be head-over-heels in love with the idiot, but she was not an idiot.

After several long moments in which feet were shuffled and soft, nervous coughs were heard, the judge spoke again, first to her, then to House.

"Dr. Cuddy, you are an uncommon woman, and you, Dr. House, are a very fortunate man."


	132. Chapter 132

**Part 132**

Despite the activity around her, Cuddy still felt dazed from the judge's ruling on House's plea bargain.

Approved without any alterations to sentencing.

Two years probation. In Baltimore with her and Rachel. No restrictions on movement beyond the requirement to alert his parole officer if he planned to travel out of the state. That's it. He just had to stay out of any legal trouble, which she suspected he would avoid at all costs.

House's relief at knowing he wasn't going back behind bars had left him speechless, a highly unusual thing for House. He'd barely been able to thank the judge. He'd had to sit after the jurist vacated the bench and went to his chambers, and he'd just sat there for the longest while, his head bowed as he took slow, deep breaths.

When the ruling had been declared, Cuddy had instinctively reached out to him, her hand landing on his shoulder and holding tight. His hands required to keep him upright, he hadn't been able to acknowledge her touch the way he usually would, with a touch of his fingers to hers, but she'd felt him tremble under her grip.

When he'd sat, she'd sat, too, trying to catch her breath and hold back tears.

Somehow, they'd both managed to thank Stacy with words, then hugs. House had held onto his ex for a long time and Stacy had cried when he kissed her cheek and thanked her a second time.

Then with effort, he'd risen again and made his way around the railing. Cuddy had met him there in the main aisle and raised on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth while he held himself up on the crutches. He'd smiled at her, so many emotions swirling in his bright, blue eyes.

A group of well-wishers had awaited them in the hall outside the courtroom. House had been taken off-guard seeing most of his former team members there, including Allison Cameron. He hadn't known how to respond to their congratulations, but Chase had tried to stem the awkwardness by extending an invitation for a round of drinks at a nearby pub, everyone invited — and he'd pick up the tab.

House had wanted to decline. He still wasn't much of a socializer and he was as emotionally exhausted as Cuddy now that this part was over. As they both considered what the judge's ruling meant for them.

But Remi Hadley had provided the encouragement House'd needed to relent and agree to one drink with them.

House was having that drink now, sipping it as he sat beside Cuddy and Stacy. Their ages were showing. While the others were talking animatedly about all sorts of things related to music, pop culture, and medicine, they were watching and slowly nursing their drinks.

The only person missing was Wilson and Cuddy felt his absence keenly. She knew House did, too. The look in his eyes when he looked at her…

Beneath the table, she sought out his hand and gave it a squeeze. She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, "He would be happy for you."

He nodded, made a request. "Let's get out of here."

"You feeling okay?" she asked when she drew back.

"Uncomfortable," he said, eyes looking around.

Not physically. At least that wasn't the major source of his discomfort.

Cuddy smiled at him and set her glass on the table. A glance at Stacy told her she was of the same mind.

As politely as possible, the three of them made their exit and found their way back to the hotel. Stacy parted ways with them there, heading back to Short Hills.

Once in the room, House let out an audible sigh of relief. He sat on the bedside and ditched the crutches and his coat. The tie went next, then the dress shirt.

Not waiting for him to ask, Cuddy retrieved his pajama bottoms and helped him swap the dress trousers for their more comfortable counterpart. She started to hang his dress clothes and put them in the garment bag for the trip home but he stopped her before she could move away.

Hands on her hips, he looked up at her and drew her to him, close enough for him to lean his head against her body. He took a deep breath and she felt all the tension leave him.

A sense of peace enveloped her as he wrapped his arms around her hips and just held onto her. She cradled him, fingers stroking his hair, his neck and back.

They didn't move for a long time. He was the first to eventually break the embrace, partially, leaning his head back and looking up at her.

"Take me home, Cuddy."

Tears welling, Cuddy took his face in her hands, bowed to kiss him, whispering, "Okay," as her lips touched his.


	133. Chapter 133

**Part 133**

After securing a service to deliver her car to Baltimore, Cuddy and House took the train home.

It proved to be better than the drive. In addition to being a shorter trip, she'd been able to acquire a sleeping berth, allowing House to lay down and rest. He'd slept most of the way and she'd watched him, her heart full of so many different things.

Last night in their room in Princeton, they had just held each other. He hadn't said much and neither had she. It had just been quiet and peaceful, relief allowing them to sleep deeply and restfully through until morning.

It was, in all honesty, the best night's sleep they'd had in years — at least it had been for Cuddy. She hoped tonight would be even better since they would be home, with Rachel nestled in her bed just down the hall.

Rachel and Janice were waiting for them at Penn Station when they arrived. House had agreed to a wheelchair, surprisingly, to navigate the heavy foot traffic. It had put him at the perfect height for a big kiss on the cheek and hug from Rachel.

Soon as her daughter saw them, she'd broken away from Janice and closed the distance to Cuddy in a flash. She'd bestowed her affections on Cuddy then House, choosing to walk beside him as they made their way outside.

Once home, they settled in for the evening.

Dinner was lively, thanks to Rachel, who acted as though she hadn't seen them in a month instead of two days. She talked incessantly, but Cuddy was pleased to see that it amused House rather than annoyed him.

As the evening wore on House and Cuddy started a movie while Rachel spent time coloring, but they ended up dozing off on the couch. Rachel woke them at some point to ask who was putting her to bed.

They ended up splitting the job, much to Rachel's delight. Cuddy bathed her, then House ended up tucking her in.

Unable to help herself, Cuddy slipped into the shadows of the hall and listened as he read Rachel a story, making silly voices for the characters. She wasn't sure he would have done so had she been in the room or if he'd known she was listening. Which is why, when she heard him reaching the end of the book, she drifted back to their bedroom.

Their bedroom. Cuddy loved that and wanted him to feel the same way. To think of the room as theirs, the bed as theirs, this home as theirs, with Rachel.

With House free of the legal crap, Cuddy finally felt comfortable admitting those desires to herself, and embracing the joy that came with doing so.

"What are you smiling about?"

The question came as she was getting her bedclothes out of the dresser. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway, a curious expression on his face.

"Just happy to be home," she told him.

Accepting her answer, he went into the bathroom and she heard him turn on the water in the tub. She wished he could take a soak with her but it wasn't recommended for amputees, especially while still healing. Only short baths were advisable to prevent the skin from getting too soft, which could lead to irritation, abrasions, and ulcerations, which would only translate into discomfort with the artificial limb.

An idea occurred to Cuddy, though, when she saw him come out of the bathroom and begin undressing for bed.

"What are you up to, woman?" he asked when she threw him a mischievous smile before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

Knowing he still needed to clean up and wanting to share that time with him without complications, Cuddy put the waterproof stool at the far end of the tub, where her feet would be when she took her soak. If he sat there, she would be able to help him clean up and they could talk, if he wanted.

When she came back out, he had managed to strip down on his own. He was pushing his shoe off with the bottom of the crutch just as she exited. The large soles on the sneaker provided just enough surface area for him to do it.

"You're getting better," she told him.

"I'm getting smarter about it," he replied with a grin.

Cuddy smiled, but she knew, just as he did, that as the stump continued to heal and the physical therapy progressed, he would be able to do even more for himself, eventually needing little to no help when it came to these sorts of things.

For now, though, Cuddy helped him when he needed it, which was the case with his sock. Bending, she helped him slip it off then picked up his things then took them to the hamper.

"Come on, House," she called out to him from the bathroom as she stripped out her own clothes and tossed them in with his.

She was nude by the time he entered in the same state. He smiled when he saw the stool.

"You looking for a show?" he asked, knowing it would leave him exposed while she would be concealed by bubbles.

"Why not?" she teased. "I figure turnabout's fair play."

"I always knew you were naughty," he countered and made his way over to the tub. She let him maneuver himself over and helped steady the stool as he lowered. He took the rest from there, pivoting and putting his foot over into the water.

He picked up her bubble bath and put some in the water as it continued to run. After she pulled her hair up, she settled down into the water, blushing when his eyes moved over her with unabashed appreciation. He knew how to make her feel sexy. And he'd been doing it for years.

"I would ask you if you like what you see, but Little Greg has already cast his vote," she said with a nod toward him.

"That's only because Big Greg cast his first."

His smile was bold.

Cuddy turned the water off then shifted in the tub, moving onto her knees as she neared him. Taking the soft cloth from the rack above the faucet, she dipped it into the water.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

"Do you _really_ have to ask?"

She shook her head and reached to run the cloth over his chest. He let her wash him. It was quiet and intimate. The only sounds in the room were those of soft breaths and water, as it ran off his body and she rinsed and rewet the cloth.

She washed his chest and back, his neck and arms, his left leg and then his stump. She was careful with that part of him, and then the one begging for her attention. She looked up at him when she set the cloth aside and concentrated on the feel of him in her hand.

He touched her face then closed his eyes. She watched pleasure cascade across his features as his body responded to her touch.

Leaving him for a moment, she turned the water on again, long enough to let it warm to a comfortable temperature. Then she washed the soap from him. He shut off the faucet then pulled the tie from her hair when she bowed over him.

Cuddy luxuriated in the feel of his fingers running through the long strands of her hair, fanning them out around her shoulders as she tended him with lips and tongue. She loved this with him, applied the same desire for perfection to her efforts that she had been employing in other areas of her life, for years.

Her endeavors were rewarded with a deep groan and heavy shudder.

Then he was drawing her up, his hand in her hair, guiding her to meet his mouth.

The kiss was soft and sensual.

It was a thank you.

It was an expression of affection.

It was a promise of more.


	134. Chapter 134

**Part 134**

"It feels weird."

Cuddy opened her eyes and looked at House. His attention was clearly divided because while his hand was doing the most delicious things to her sex, he wasn't focused on her. His gaze was not distant, but as if looking inward, assessing.

Of course, Cuddy mused, only House had the brain capacity to make her feel great at the same time he was thinking about something else.

Reaching down, she stilled his hand. "You know, that's not the most flattering thing I've heard in bed."

Her touch and words regained his full attention. He gave her a look of apology.

"Not you, Cuddy," he said, though she'd expected as much.

Reaching a hand up, she touched the side of his face, fingernails grazing through the stubble on his cheek.

"Then what feels weird?" she asked.

"Being free."

The words were said softly as his resumed the caress of his fingers, attention back on her now.

Cuddy smiled and shifted to give him better access, her legs parting wider.

"Yeah," he breathed and reached deeper before smiling and adding, "You feel great, by the way."

The words were accompanied by a little flutter of his fingertips right _there_, making her gasp.

"_House_," she hissed when he did it again. Her eyes fell shut and she pressed her head back into the pillow. God, that felt good.

"Better?"

Cuddy nodded and smoothed her hand across his shoulder and down to grasp his upper arm. The muscle definition there had increased as his physical therapy progressed. As someone not hung up on muscular physiques, she found herself surprised that the change aroused her further.

"What thought just went through that mind of yours?"

Cuddy laughed softly at the question. "You really want to converse while we do this?"

"No, I just want to know what made you flush so suddenly. Because it wasn't this," he said smugly as he caressed that spot again.

"Are you sure?" she challenged on a panting breath.

He repeated the action.

"Yes." He sounded smugger than before. "Now tell me, Cuddy … what made you suddenly look so _hungry_."

Opening her eyes, she looked up into his blue ones and caressed his arm, kneading the muscle then sliding her hand up to his shoulder then back down.

He smiled and she curled her fingers tight around his arm when he slowly drew it away. She heard herself whimpering at his retreat … then gasping when he soothingly and quickly came back to her, with a twist.

He held her gaze when he did it again … then again. On the third time, her eyes fell shut and she arched to follow him, prolonging the contact then retreating as he returned.

"Perfect," she heard him whisper.

Then she felt his breath brush her cheek, then her mouth, just before his lips grazed over hers. The kiss was teasing, coaxing her to pursue more. She did, without hesitation and was kissed tenderly, deeply while his hands explored similarly below.

Sexy. Sultry. Perfect. Yes, perfect. And so was the orgasm he triggered with a well-timed flick of his thumb.

"You are entirely too good at that," she told him a bit later after they'd settled in to sleep.

"Is that a complaint?" he asked, teasingly, as she crawled in on her side of the bed.

"God, no," she said emphatically. Complaining about that was the _last_ thing she would do. "In fact, feel free to commit me if I ever do."

Before turning over, she switched her bedside lamp off and cast the room into darkness.

House was on his back and she lay beside him. Her head on the pillow, she looked at him and smiled. A part of her had been afraid that they would be denied this, that he would be taken from her in Princeton. But here he was. She knew the giddiness would fade in time. But not tonight.

"I'm happy you're home," she told him, her hand coming to rest on his chest.

He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her.

"Me, too."

Holding his gaze, she said softly, "This _is_ your home."

She watched him smile knowingly. "I know."

"Good," she whispered then suggested, "Sleep?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy closed her eyes when she saw him close his.

"Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Cuddy."


	135. Chapter 135

**Part 135**

Cuddy was on her way to return a chart to the nurses' station when she was stopped in the hall by a colleague who'd just returned from a sabbatical.

Dr. Paul Morrison was a vascular surgeon who'd been trying to get her to go out with him. From day one at the hospital, the dark-haired, dark-eyed physician had pursued her for a date. They'd been on exactly one, about a year ago, but she'd felt nothing, no spark at all with him, so the date had ended at her front door and she hadn't considered a second. He'd continued to want one, though, and pursued the notion, not enough to worry Cuddy, but enough to annoy the crap out of her.

That was until three months ago, when his European leave began. But judging by the look on his face and the fact he was carrying a single, red rose, Cuddy thought her reprieve was about to be over — at least until she could break the news that she was involved.

Cuddy was not looking forward to this conversation and did her best to be cordial but professional — she did have to work with the man on occasion.

"Lisa," he said, offering his hand and the rose.

She gave him a polite smile and nodded, briefly shook his hand but did not take the rose, choosing to occupy her hands by taking off her white coat and folding it over her arm.

"Dr. Morrison," she said and liked the neutral tone she achieved.

He frowned.

"Dr. Morrison? I haven't been gone that long, _Dr. Cuddy_," he said. "I was hoping we could grab lunch and catch up on the latest gossip."

Gossip. That reminded her of another physician. But that one she liked, loved even.

She must have smiled or something at the thought of House because Paul took it as permission to press his luck.

He tried to kiss her on the cheek but she dodged him by stepping back. It was her only option since he only had a few inches on her. She couldn't duck out of the way like she could with a taller man.

Morrison really frowned then. "Did I just misread…?"

"I'm with someone," she said not wanting to prolong the conversation.

He looked crestfallen but recovered fairly quickly for a guy whose two years of hoping had just been dashed. He mustered up a smile.

"He's a lucky guy," he said.

"Yes, he is."

Cuddy had to suppress her smile and the laugh emerging behind it.

House. A cheerful House. He was approaching her from behind, which made her think of this morning's activities, which made her blush.

Turning, Cuddy saw self-satisfaction written in his gaze, in the language of his body. The bastard had seen the man try to kiss her and her quick avoidance.

Soon as he was beside her, he balanced onto his left leg, shook off the crutch then held his right hand out to Morrison.

"Greg House, _lucky guy_," he said.

Territorial. He had always been that where she was concerned. It had even taken a while for him to stop resenting Rachel's presence in her life, as if he'd thought she wouldn't have enough love for both of them. He'd obviously gotten over that, but where other men were concerned…

House trusted her, that much Cuddy knew, but she also knew he wouldn't pass up the chance to make sure any hopeful, would-be suitors knew that she was _his_. His grin alone spoke volumes.

"Ready for lunch?" House asked her as he rearranged his crutch. "According to this _smokin' hot_ mama I know, there's a Reuben with my name on it somewhere near here."

"Over at Berg's deli?" Morrison interjected.

"Yes," Cuddy said then looked at House. "Just let me put this chart away."

He nodded and she felt him ogling her ass as she walked away. She was just glad he hadn't made a comment about that part of her anatomy … or any other part … in front of Morrison. But then she heard Morrison open Pandora's box.

"She's not a piece of meat, _Mr. House_."

_Oh God. _Cuddy walked faster in hopes of getting back before House went into _full_ House mode.

"It's doctor, actually," she heard House correct then, in that faux-juvenile tone of admiration she knew so well, "And trust me, I know that she's _more_ than a piece of _ass_. But it does look _absolutely _fantastic."

Cuddy heard Morrison make a sound of disgust, which was pretty much catnip to House.

Turning briefly, Cuddy caught House's gaze, sending an optical plea for him to not go too far. He just smiled at her but it was gentler now, and his response was surprisingly tame considering where he could — and would — have taken it in the past.

"What? You think she doesn't know I look? I would hope she knows by now. I mean, it's been nearly twenty years. Right, Cuddy?"

The last he said a bit louder, meaning he was looking for her to answer. Setting the chart in the rack, she came back toward him.

"About that," she said. "And you've been an _ass_ most of that time."

Cuddy saw a smug look cross Morrison's face, which irked her. He had no right to feel smug about anything concerning her or House. Her words weren't a vindication of his chivalrous but unnecessary defense of her.

House had been objectifying her body for years. Flirting and complimenting, that's all it was, albeit backward to societal norms, and she got off on it. And House knew it, which is why he'd always pushed the boundaries, sometimes loudly.

Seeing the look on Morrison's face now, she found herself wishing she hadn't reined House in. And House read it in her face because _that_ smile was back.

"You're just lucky that I love the challenge," she said.

"You thrive on it," House pointed out, accurately, "And you love that I find you sexy and you don't care who knows it."

Cuddy smiled at him. "I don't?"

House cocked his head playfully. "Is that a question?"

"Ass," she said and patted his chest.

Then, with a courteous nod to Morrison, Cuddy walked away with a smile, leaving House to follow — and the last word.

He didn't disappoint.

"My god, I love that woman!"


	136. Chapter 136

**Part 136**

"You know, that wasn't very nice what we did back there."

Cuddy said it after swallowing a spoonful of soup. She didn't exactly feel bad about the exchange with Dr. Morrison, but … well, she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

As for House, he just shrugged, holding his half-eaten Reuben held in his hands.

"He was getting forward with my girl. Had to shut that down," he said in mock-seriousness. "I suppose I could have beat him with my crutch, but in my condition I had to resort to the old standby: verbal humiliation. It is so much more fun than brute force."

Cuddy shook her head, amused. "You really are an ass."

He smiled and set his sandwich down. He picked up his napkin and wiped his hands, eying her as he did so. It was that look he got when he was analyzing something.

"What?"

"You went out with him."

"Once," she confirmed, then added quickly, "And it ended at the front door."

"Good. I don't like the idea of that guy being in your house," he said then cocked his head and playfully added after a perfectly timed pause, "Wait, that didn't sound right."

Cuddy laughed. "Don't worry, he didn't even rate the stoop."

His eyes flashed wide in mock shock. "Wow, no kiss, huh?"

"Nope," Cuddy said.

"How long have you been fending him off?" he asked when he picked up his sandwich.

"A couple years," she told him. "He has been gone for a few months. I'd hoped he would lose his fascination by the time he got back."

"Lisa Cuddy, you underestimate your power over my gender," House countered before taking another bite of his sandwich, "And probably the other one," he added after shoving the food to one side of his mouth.

Cuddy smiled. "Is that a latent fantasy of yours or do you do it just for shock value?

His eyebrows raised and he quickly swallowed. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

Considering the look on his face, she was asking herself the same question. She finally decided to just go for it.

"Yes," she said, sounding more confident in the decision than she probably was.

"Both," he replied. "But unless there are two of _you_, I don't see it happening."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows.

"So the fantasy involves two of me, not me and some other woman?"

"Yep," he said with a smile. "But not like in a twin sort of thing. But just two of you. Two Cuddys."

"You're a perverse man," she declared.

"Blame it on the years of porn exposure," he said. "Or chalk it up to the fact I can't get enough of you and that your ass is big enough for—"

"What makes you think you could handle two of me?" she cut him off before he could finish that sentence.

"You're a lot of woman, Cuddy, but I figure I've got a better shot, even with only one leg, than Dr. Love."

That was true. House could turn her on in ways that were positively scandalous, and just the memory of him had made sure that men of the likes of Dr. Love had no chance at all with her.

"Well," she began, teasing, "If they perfect cloning in our lifetime, we'll find out if you can cut it."

"You are so … _awesome_."

The positively enthusiastic look on his face made Cuddy smile, and her heart skip a beat. The latter would be considered an odd response if it were to anyone other than House.

"Eat your sandwich," she told him. "I have a lecture in an hour."


	137. Chapter 137

**Part 137**

A snowball hit the wall beside Cuddy just as she came out of the building. She jumped, startled, and looked for the culprit. She knew who it was even though she didn't see him right away.

"House."

That's when the second one came flying. Missing her again, by inches. She located him this time, though.

He was positioned behind one of the cedars in the small park between the main buildings of the hospital. He was throwing left-handed, which is why he'd missed her. He was also in a wheelchair, which explained why he was braving the snow in the first place, and also why she hadn't expected a sneak attack.

The third volley hit her coat, just at her knees.

"House!"

The fourth she managed to sidestep but she couldn't restrain a smile.

He had been in a playful mood all day.

Freedom did funny things to people. Apparently it reverted House back to childhood. Considering the crappy nature of much of his, she decided she could indulge this second one for a few minutes, even if it was freezing out.

Setting her bag out of the line of fire, she made a snowball of her own and waited for him to roll forward. When he did, she launched her attack. It flew by him and he looked at her in shock, as if he couldn't believe she was playing back.

Cuddy supposed that was fair. Her unflagging drive to be the mature one and have everything "just so" had prevented her doing anything like this before.

Seeing him suddenly grinning again, like a fiend, she ducked behind a lamp post as he tossed another snowball in her direction. Still missed.

"Your aim is off," she teased and gathered another handful of snow, so glad the park was empty at the moment.

"Never learned to switch-hit," he called out then swore.

Worried he'd toppled himself on the slight slope where he'd taken up position, Cuddy moved closer … and regretted it.

He'd managed to spin the chair and fired away with his right hand, hitting her square in the chest. But he exposed him in the process and she managed to land her next round right in his face.

She laughed as he sputtered and wiped the snow from his face. Then he was grinning and looking at her with a delight that would almost put Rachel's to shame.

It took so little to make him happy. And he was happy, as happy as she'd ever known him to be.

She raised her hands.

"Cease fire?"

When he didn't do the same, she became suspicious.

"Let me see your hands," she demanded, not trusting him.

He did so, but only after he looked at her mischievously for several long moments. When he did let go of the wheel to show her, the chair spun and he was suddenly rolling backward down the slope.

Before she could call out, though, he managed to catch the wheels, his gloved hands bringing the chair to a stop, well, the wheels. The chair itself slid a few more inches before coming to a halt. His expression went instantly from serious back to that boyish grin. Then the idiot began cutting donuts in the snow.

Cuddy just watched him, shaking her head and feeling ridiculously happy. How had she not let herself enjoy this part of him when they'd been together?

Grabbing her satchel, Cuddy made her way down the walk toward him.

"Whataya think, Cuddy? Paralympics champ in the making?"

"They have an event for wheelchair donuts on slick surfaces?" she teased.

"If not, they should have," he countered, pushing the chair into a hard and fast spin.

A buried rock put an end to his fun, stopping the chair suddenly and sending him out of the seat. Cuddy rushed forward, her satchel abandoned on the walk. She barely felt the snow creeping into her shoes and gathering at the hem of her pants as she stepped into the snow and went over to him.

He was breathing, she could see the puffs of air, but otherwise, he was just laying there after having rolled onto his back.

"Are you okay?" she asked as she neared.

He held a hand out to her and she took it … and yanked her down on top of him.

"Jesus, House! You scared the hell out of me," she said upon seeing him smiling.

He didn't say a word in return, just looked at her then lifted his head from the snow and kissed her. His lips were cold but the feelings behind them weren't. She kissed him back, smiling when she felt him smile.

"You're insane," she whispered between caresses of his lips.

"But you love me anyway," he asserted and kissed her once more.

She drew back and looked at him.

"Yes," she said, touching his face.

"Dr. Cuddy, is everything all right?"

Cuddy looked over to see a group of her colleagues looking at her in concern.

"Yes," she replied while House asserted the exact opposite, "No, this woman is attacking me. Has a thing for cripples apparently. It was bad enough when I just had a limp. Now I have no leg and she's all over me."

"Shut up, you idiot," she told him then, struck by the entire absurdity of the moment, buried her face in his chest and laughed.

House held her for a few moments while the others moved away, muttering and snickering amongst themselves.

Once they were alone again and her amusement had eased, she looked at him, her heart melting instantly even as cold seeped through her clothing.

He smiled, teased, "I think I may have hypothermia."

"Guess that means I'll have to take you home and warm you up," she suggested, loving the thought of it and already thinking of a number of ways she'd like to do just that.

He just grinned and sighed in mock relief.

"I was so hoping you'd say that."


	138. Chapter 138

**Part 138**

"You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself with that stunt."

Cuddy whispered the admonishment as she kissed her way across House's chest. His hands delved into her hair and drew her up to him. She went, smiled when she saw his easy, sensual smile.

"Did you have fun?"

The question was asked softly. She nodded slowly.

"Then let it be fun and kiss me."

"Okay," she agreed on a breath and pressed her lips to his.

The soft smack when they parted made her heart flutter. She went back for more, flushing warm when he slid his hands down her back. She pressed into his palms when he cupped her ass, hummed as he maneuvered to where he wanted her.

Lips melding with his, she took care of the rest, curling her hand around his erection and guiding him into her. She gasped and pressed her brow to his, mouth leaving his with a whispered "House."

"Come on," he encouraged, hands on her hips now, pressing her downward until she took all of him.

Cuddy sat up slowly, hands sliding along his arms until her fingers found his. They laced and she rocked her hips tighter to him.

"That's good," she whispered and gazed down at him.

Firelight illuminated the features of his face, danced with shadows to highlight the contours of his body.

His eyes moved over her slowly, almost reverent in their appreciation of her. It made her tremble beyond the physical. It made her wonder if he would look at her all night, and if she was ready to let him.

Then she felt him move under her. Just a rolling of his hips. Her eyes fell shut at the sensation and the pleasure that blossomed out from where they were connected. She started to move with him instinctively, but he stilled her, hands gripping hers tightly.

"Let me," he breathed.

She did, holding his gaze as he made love to her. It was slow and gentle, and so very deliberate. There was thought in every move he made under her, and that aroused her beyond belief. She could barely breathe and on each push into her, he took more of her breath away, reducing her respiration to little more than trembling little gasps.

"Good?"

She nodded, calling on every ounce of restraint she had to prevent herself from moving in every other way. She wanted to fall into rhythm with him and sensed he was watching and waiting for that moment when she couldn't hold out any more.

When that happened, when the need began to overwhelm her, she just shook her head.

He immediately released her hands and wrapped his arms around her as she came down to him and buried her face in his neck.

She moved in concert with him then, deepening and prolonging their connection. She panted against his skin and pressed herself closer. She needed closer than was possible.

Fingers in his hair, she clutched to him, rasped, "I need you, House."

One strong arm held her tighter still while the other eased between them, his fingers searching for just what she needed.

"I've got you," he told her and she moaned and shut her eyes.

"God, House," she gasped then found his mouth with hers, devouring him with hungry kisses that she never wanted to end.

But they did end when she reached the crest. She cried out, his name, words of love. Her mouth hovering over his damp brow, she pleaded for him to not stop,

He didn't and neither did she, not until she felt him coming inside her and heard her name uttered on a harsh breath against her throat.


	139. Chapter 139

**Part 139**

The fire dampened for the night, Cuddy spooned against House's back.

"Thank you for that," she said, kissing his shoulder.

He just squeezed her hand in reply, then thanked her for the day.

"Are you thanking for me for a snowball fight?" she asked, amused.

"Yes," he said softly, "You should play more."

Cuddy considered his observation and how it aligned with her thoughts earlier in the day. He was a lively personality, always had been. He knew how to let loose and have fun. It was only when the pain and his self-loathing partnered up that it became dark and self-destructive.

Today had been the exact opposite. It was like he'd been a week ago with Rachel. Just playing. Just taking a few minutes out of the day to enjoy something like a kid. There were far worse things people could do with their lives, including herself.

Raising Rachel had taught her how to let go of some of her perpetual need for order and perfection. There was only so much that could be controlled or planned when it came to a child. A cold, a tantrum, a scraped knee — any one of those things could derail a day, not to mention a big-eyed pleading for a spur-of-the-moment tea party with stuffed animals.

Cuddy loved the latter. There were days that exhaustion didn't even matter because her little girl would look at her and ask her to read her a book or make cookies. Those were moments that nothing could compare with, and she welcomed them more every day.

Now here was House, back in their lives, bringing his own brand of fun, and wanting to play, too. She couldn't begrudge him what she desired for herself, and what Rachel desired with him.

"I should," she agreed, snuggling closer to him when a memory flitted through her mind. "I remember the go-carts. You got us banned," she laughed.

"Sam started it," came House's voice, tinged with humor.

"Yeah, she did," Cuddy agreed then grinned and propped her chin on his shoulder. "As you know, I don't support cheating, but I want to go on the record as saying I'm glad you did in that instance. She deserved it."

"I had to avenge you."

Cuddy remembered him saying something like that at the time, too.

"God, what did Wilson see in her?"

"I told you, he was attracted to psychos," House answered. "And in her case, twice."

"She was an overbearing bitch. Why he went back a second time…"

"Some people would say the same thing about you," House countered. "About the second-time part, with me, that is."

"Oh please, I know I can be a bitch," she confessed. "And technically, it's the third time around, if you count Michigan."

"You count a one-night stand?" he asked dubiously.

Cuddy smiled. "I count anything that involves you and me naked. Or is that you? That sounds more like you."

"Actually, that entire thing sounded like me, but I'm _totally_ cool with it being you, too."

He would be, Cuddy mused.

"You doing your physical therapy at the hospital tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy liked that. "Lunch again?"

"Sure. Have to make sure Dr. Love got the message."

"House, it's not a competition," Cuddy smiled, loving his possessiveness, even if it was irrational. "You won the race."

"Not sure he knows that."

"I do," Cuddy assured him.

"Okay, but just in case, I'm gonna increase my ogling efforts when he's around," he warned.

"Careful you don't sprain an eye," Cuddy teased, then suggested, "Or you could just bring me flowers."

"Or I could sext you."

Cuddy frowned. "You could what?"

"You know, send you sexually explicit text messages. Maybe with pictures," House replied. "Definitely pictures, of me, or parts of me, naked."

"Don't you dare."

"You do know you just pretty much guaranteed it with that, right?"

Cuddy had fallen right into that trap. The man could not resist a dare, or a bet, or gossip.

"House, seriously…"

"Don't worry, I'll start small. Which means it won't be from anywhere near Little Greg."

Somehow that didn't reassure her.

"House."

"Going to sleep now."

God, she could practically feel him smiling and his mind working out just what he was going to do.

"I'm not buying it."

"Not selling it." He fake yawned. "Sleeping now."

"House."

No response. She sighed.

"Okay, but you have to delete them after," she said, hoping to at least corral him if she couldn't stop him altogether.

He patted her hand in response. "That's my girl."

Pressing her brow against his shoulder, Cuddy closed her eyes with a groan.

_What did I just do?_


	140. Chapter 140

**Part 140**

"I need a computer."

Cuddy looked up from the presentation file she was reviewing on her laptop to see House standing in the doorway of her office. He was leaned on his crutch.

"Okay," she said. "I just have to finish this presentation, should be a half-hour."

He looked down the hall and then back to her.

"Actually, I need one of my own."

"Okay," she said again, but eyed him curiously.

To date, he hadn't seemed interested in using a computer other than for some research here and there and he'd used hers or the ones in the patient library to do it. But something had apparently changed. She didn't know what and it really didn't matter in the long run. If he needed a computer, they'd get one, but currently he had _that_ look about him, which made her suspect he was up to something.

"Why the sudden need?"

She couldn't help but ask, the curiosity too much to ignore.

"No reason."

Okay, the nonchalance meant there was a reason. He'd totally ignored the suspicion behind her question, and passed up an opportunity to deflect by bringing up the sometimes-touchy subject of finances.

Smiling at him, Cuddy set her jaw. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing." Again that nonchalance, but with a smile this time.

"Yes, you are," she said, holding his gaze.

Oh, there was a challenge there.

"So, can I have it?"

She nodded. "We'll pick one up on the way home."

"Okay," he said then turned to walk away.

"House," she called him back. Soon as he was in the doorway, she told him, "You know you can't access porn from the internal network here."

"Not looking for porn. I have you. Porn was for pre-Cuddy House."

Cuddy smiled at him. Cat and mouse. God help her, she loved this game with him. It was probably because she never _really_ knew what he was going to do or say next. He kept things interesting — and her guessing. It was also admittedly more fun because she was no longer his boss. This was just them.

Crafty as always, he took advantage of her amusement to make his exit, calling out, "Off to do some more reps," before disappearing down the hall.

The game was clearly on and she just hoped he knew where the lines were so he could stay inside them. So far, since being back in her life, he'd refrained from doing or saying anything too embarrassing and she was trusting that would hold. God only knew why, except, as she and Stacy had noted more than once, he'd changed. But how much, she couldn't say, at least in regards to their special game.

All day, she'd been on the lookout for one of the promised text messages with graphic content, but so far, there'd been nothing. In preparation, she'd gone so far as to turn off the message previews so that whatever he sent wouldn't display where just anyone could see. And she'd set the device to silent.

Cuddy had been positive one would show up when she was doing rounds, and when she was in a conference with a struggling student, and when she'd been in a staff meeting. But now, with the rest of her day relegated to paperwork and checking on a handful of patients, she found herself somewhat disappointed that he hadn't followed through.

Of course, the moment she entertained the thought of disappointment was when the first message came. She started when her phone screen suddenly lit up. The device lay just to the right of the computer and it indicated there was a new message from House.

Feeling something halfway between apprehension and excitement, Cuddy picked it up and unlocked the screen. The message was simple and baiting.

_Thinking about me?_

She smiled and sent him a message back: _You know the answer to that._

_Are you…_

_Am I what? _she asked.

_You know…_

He was good, but not quite that good. _No._

_Me either. But I'm in the elevator. With other people. So that would be awkward. For them. Not me._

_Behave._

_It's like you don't even know me?_

_Oh, I know you,_ Cuddy countered

The next message from him came as an attachment, and Cuddy shook her head at the picture of House wearing an exaggerated grin and giving her a thumbs up. It was taken from inside the elevator — she recognized the panels on the walls behind him.

She texted him back. _A picture of your head is not starting small, House._

_Okay._

There was a delay then another picture came through, this time of just his thumb, and it was followed by another text.

_Do you remember what I did with this last night?_

Cuddy flushed hot at his skill with that particular digit, and exactly how he'd used it last night for her pleasure.

_Still with me?_ appeared in the next message bubble when she didn't respond right away.

_Yes,_ she answered.

_Getting warmer?_

She smiled._ Yes._

_I've reduced you to monosyllabic responses. Awesome!_

_Ass._

_Okay. _

_That wasn't a request._

_You sure? Because my floor's coming up._

Cuddy wanted to laugh. She knew there was no way he could take a picture of that part of his anatomy right now. He just simply did not have the balance yet.

_Yes._

Another message came through then and this time Cuddy did laugh.

It was a picture of a jackass.


	141. Chapter 141

**Part 141**

Cuddy was drying excess water from her hair with a towel when she returned to the bedroom.

House was in the bed, using up the computer they'd picked up on the way home. So far, he hadn't given any indication of what he planned to use it for. He'd set it up earlier in the evening and now looked to be reading or watching something on the screen. His focus was intent.

"What's so interesting?" she asked as she hitched a hip on the side of the bed, next to where his right leg was only a month ago.

For a moment, just a split second, she almost reached out to touch it until she remembered it was gone. She could only imagine how odd that probably felt to him, when he could sense it.

"It's weird."

Cuddy looked up to see him looking at her. He'd noted where her attention drifted after asking the question.

"I can only imagine," she said, reaching instead to touch his left leg.

His attention returned to the computer for a moment, then he turned it to show her what he'd been looking at.

_Mont Saint-Michel._

"Soon as my damned probation is over, we're going."

Cuddy was touched, and also felt guilty. They'd never made the trip she'd promised him nearly three years ago. She'd let work and everything else get in the way of the romantic weekend he'd wanted to give her, less than twenty-four hours after she'd told him she loved him.

"Yes," Cuddy said definitively and held his gaze when she answered. "And we'll take Rachel."

"She should see the world," House said.

Cuddy smiled. "You did."

"Egypt, the Philippines, Japan, some other places. One of the few perks of being a military brat."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. There was so much pain associated with his childhood, tainting even the good things his father had brought into his life.

"Is that where you learned Spanish?"

He nodded. "French, Japanese and Portuguese."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Any more?" she asked, suspecting there might be. His brain was a sponge for knowledge and he mastered most anything he took on, from yo-yo tricks to musical instruments.

"Self-taught Mandarin and Hindi, and I know enough phrases in a few others to make sure I won't starve or sleep in the street, and can find a bathroom."

"The French will come in handy," she mused.

"Mmmm-hmmm."

"You'll be in your permanent prosthetic by then," she noted also. That would make the trip easier for him.

"Permanent is a misnomer," he said, but it wasn't a complaint or said with negativity, just a factual statement. And it was true. The socket for the limb would have to be repeatedly adjusted over time to accommodate changes in the stump itself. It would not stay the same, even once fully healed.

"True," she said. "But you'll be ready for the stairs."

His smile brightened at that.

"I suppose you'll want to take a long walk on a rocky beach?"

"I might," she said with a smile.

"I'll need one of my canes to stay steady," he pointed out.

Cuddy smiled and spoke a truth, "The cane is a sexy look on you."

"I always knew you had a thing for my extra wood," he teased, eyes sparkling now.

Reaching, Cuddy took the computer from him, closed it up and set it on the bedside table. She scooted closer to him as she ditched the towel. Her hand found it's way along his left leg to his groin, eyes holding his the entire time.

"Got wood?" she teased, fingers caressing his inner thigh.

"You keep going and I can guarantee it."

There was a lush sensuality to his voice when he said it.

"What if I were to just … talk about it?" she asked, remembering how aroused she'd gotten during the day as his text messages had taken on a more erotic tone. There'd been nothing truly explicit, just deeply evocative word choices that tapped her sensory memory.

A sexy smile. "Somebody enjoyed sexting."

"Somebody knows how to seduce me," she conceded. Because he did know how to do that. No other man had _ever_ done that.

"You do a pretty good job of that yourself."

Cuddy laughed. "House, I could text you a picture of just my nipple and you'd be seduced."

"Would you?" The words were saturated with a hopeful excitement.

"I might," she teased. "Of course, I might just text the word."

"Sadly, that'd work, too," he confessed as he took hold of her hand and placed it on his rising erection. "I'm easy that way."

"In _only_ that way," she mused.

He didn't argue, just released her hand in silent invitation for her to continue caressing his growing length through the material of his shorts and briefs. She did, watching amusement fade to a smoldering desire — which she shared.

"House," she whispered, feeling the tell-tale rush of heat and want, of him. It was so powerful sometimes that it was on her before she knew it. It stole her breath and ability to think or hold a thought.

All she could do was move then and she did, carefully sliding forward on the bed until she could bow comfortably and press a kiss to his belly, just above where her hand was caressing.

His skin was warm and he shivered beneath the touch of her lips, enticing her to repeat the action. His hand pulled the wet tangles of her hair back, holding them at her nape while she chained kisses along the waist of his shorts. He was watching her while she closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of him.

When she was ready for more, she eased back and together they worked his clothing out of the way. Once they were, her mouth was on him, kissing again, alternating between delicate and teasing, to slow and loving, to deliberately arousing.

She could feel him basking in the attention, the tension in his body increasing in conjunction with his respiration and pulse, which she felt against her tongue.

He stopped her when he'd reached his limit.

Neither of them said a word as she eased from the bed and out of her nightclothes. He just gazed at her longingly when she returned to him. There was an air of wonder about him when she knelt before him, her knees touching his inner thighs.

He touched her breasts gently, smoothing his palms around and cupping them, thumbs finding her nipples and bending them to and fro. He watched how he manipulated her body then watched her response to his actions, eyes again on hers.

She covered his hands with her own, stilled him then pressed into his palms, loving the low sound he made when she did it.

With a tremble, Cuddy directed his right hand down to her waist. His left followed and she reached for his shoulders. She held to him and carefully straddled him, his hands guiding her hips, then placing himself into position.

She sank down on him slowly, watching his eyes as she did. There was that vulnerability that always undid her. It was underscored with bliss and undeniable affection.

Taking his face in her hands, she caressed him then kissed him, lips grazing then capturing his.

Tender touches of their mouths were echoed by his fingertips, brushing over her shoulders and along her spine. She shivered and pressed closer to him. Then closer still when his mouth found the hollow of her throat and he nuzzled there.

The slow prickle of his whiskers against her skin made her moan soft and low. The slow lathing of his tongue over a nipple had her arching and rolling her hips against his.

He braced her with his hands and forearms, holding her as she leaned back. She placed one hand on the bed beside his knee while her other clutched to his shoulder. Then, closing her eyes, she moved him in and out of her body with slow, deliberate undulations, her head falling back as she focused on the feel of him.

It was good. So very, very, good. And he made it better, fingers finding her sex and caressing in counter to her movements.

She didn't have to look at him to know he was loving every moment and movement. She felt it in his touch, in the hoarseness of his breaths, in the shudders that shook him. She felt his happiness and his desire, knew she would be done for soon when he directed her hand from his shoulder to the headboard.

The wrapping of his mouth around one of her breasts was all she needed to rush to the brink. The scrape of his teeth took her beyond it.

"God, yes," she gasped and drew herself up to him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders again.

Arms wrapped around him, she worked him through her release, gasping and moaning, whispering his name on each stroke until he was done, too.


	142. Chapter 142

Apologies for the delay in posting. Had a few minor things come up on the home-front and needed some downtime to regroup. Here's the next part...

* * *

**Part 142**

Cuddy hummed as House's fingers glided along the length of her spine.

She lay on her stomach beside him, her head pillowed on her folded arms. He'd been exploring her body for some time, after they'd made love, tender touches mapping her form, and she was enjoying the attention — and his attention to every detail.

"Perfect," he declared when he reached the base of her spine.

"Official diagnosis?" she asked, eyes closed and smiling.

"Yes."

It was said softly, then an equally soft kiss was pressed between her shoulder blades. His hand moved on, smoothing over the cheek of her ass down the back of her leg then up again, to her waist and up to find the side of her breast. He stroked her skin with his long fingers.

"We should be sleeping," he said even as he eased his hand under and cupped her.

"Yes," she said but not really caring what they _should_ be doing.

What they were doing was just as important. There was a time when she wouldn't have thought so, when hospital business would have preoccupied her and even overridden her desire. But work was the last thing she cared about at the moment.

The only thing she could think about at the moment was the feel of House's other arm sliding under her and urging her to turn. She followed his lead, letting him position her, and holding her against his chest while his hand moved from her breast to her inner thigh and guided her leg back and around him. He opened her for his penetration and breathed roughly against her cheek when he sank into her.

Sex. It was House's idea of opulence, and it was an idea she shared. It was a language they spoke fluently and she loved _speaking_ with him. Her body welcoming him with the same joy as the rest of her.

Covering his hand with hers, she let him pull her firmly back into his thrusts. But it wasn't enough. He wanted things harder than they could achieve without her taking the reins. And that wasn't what he wanted. She sensed the frustration from him and felt it when he stilled. His chest rose and fell with irritation and she felt him softening inside her.

He didn't say anything, just kissed her cheek and sought her pleasure instead, fingers seeking to make sure he fulfilled the promise. But she covered his hand with hers, not stopping him but caressed him lovingly.

"I'm okay," she assured him.

He went still again then gently eased her down beside him with a raspy "I'm sorry."

Cuddy turned onto her side to face him. His eyes were closed and his mouth set in a frown.

Reaching, she touched his cheek. He looked at her and she saw worry. His eyes were searching to see if she…

"I'm not disappointed," she told him softly.

There was a moment of silence before he tried to explain.

"I just need to…"

His voice trailed off but she understood him, the kind of man he was in bed. Sometimes, he needed more, to just _take her_, and she enjoyed it when he did. But there were some things they simply could not do the same way any more, at least for the time being.

"I know … I miss it, too," she said, wanting him to know he wasn't alone with it.

He eased his hand around her waist and tugged her toward him.

"Do you want me to…?"

Cuddy gave him a gentle smile as she moved closer to him. "Always. But it's okay. I'm happy to just be with you."

"Once it heals, Cuddy…"

There was a promise in those three words.

"I'll clear my calendar."

He smiled a little at that.

"I like sleeping with you," she told him. "It's nice, not being alone."

Understanding flooded his gaze. "I missed you."

Cuddy knew he had. Wilson's journal had told her as much and she chose to share that with him now.

"Wilson wrote that he sometimes saw you reach for me in the night."

House did not directly confirm his best friend's observations, but explained, "I dreamed of you a lot."

She didn't ask him if they were good dreams or bad dreams. She figured that they had been a mixture of the two, like her own had been, and that many of them had left him yearning and sorrowful.

"I reached for you, too," she breathed, eyes locked on his. "The dreams sometimes felt _so real_."

"I know." The understanding was still there, tender and inviting.

Fingers stroking along his jaw, Cuddy confessed, "I want to sleep with you every night for the rest of my life, House."

He did smile then.

"Want to get started on that?"

Leaning in, Cuddy kissed him affectionately, whispering when she pulled back, "I'd like that."

Without a word, House rolled onto his back and Cuddy snuggled against his side, enjoying how he wrapped his arm around her once she settled.

Head on his shoulder, Cuddy smoothed her hand across his chest until she curved it around his waist. She closed her eyes then and waited for sleep to come.

Just before she drifted off, she told him, "I want to make love, with you, until we absolutely _can't _anymore."

"Do you think that's going to happen?" he asked, sounding as sleepy as she felt.

"God, I hope not," she told him.

"Me, too."

They slept.


	143. Chapter 143

**Part 143**

Cuddy was in the ER for a consult when all hell broke loose.

A patient who'd come in complaining of a severe headache was now wielding a knife and threatening to slit the throat of the nurse on the other side of the gurney. He'd been in the next curtained area over and burst through to grab Tanya around the shoulders.

Tanya was looking at Cuddy in absolute terror while security was summoned. The patient's attending physician was promising the assailant medicine, which he'd initially denied, believing the guy to be drug-seeking.

People nearby were scrambling out of the area, to safety, but Cuddy couldn't move. Despite feeling the same fear as those around her, she had a patient who was currently stuck on a gurney between her and the assailant and his hostage.

The older woman looked panicked but was staying absolutely still, clearly not wanting to draw the attention of the knife-wielding man. Cuddy was worried about that, too, but what really frightened her was what the monitors were showing — a dangerous spike in blood pressure and heart rate.

Slowly, Cuddy covered the woman's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, hoping to calm her some, but it didn't make any difference in the vitals.

A movement to the left caught Cuddy's attention and she saw House on the outskirts of the chaos, behind a pair of security guards who had their hands on their pistols. He surveyed the scene, saw her then quickly disappeared.

He would be back, of that Cuddy was certain. She knew he was going to do something to diffuse the situation and although Cuddy really wished he wouldn't, that he'd keep himself safe, she also knew, as he did, that he had an unparalleled ability to distract people. For House, fear never entered into equations like this, except fear for her, which meant he wouldn't be able to resist the impulse to do something, not with her in harm's way.

And he didn't.

Having ditched his crutch and prosthetic somewhere, he came rolling into the ER in a wheelchair, quickly passing through the gap between the security guards before they could stop them. He immediately joined the assailant in bellowing for pain medication and drew the young man's attention.

Cuddy's heart shot into her throat at seeing the man move the knife away from the nurse's neck and and point it at House, who'd turned his back to the patient. He was now ripping into the equally startled doctor who'd been trying desperately to convince the irate patient that he would meet his demands.

House then spun the chair around and looked at the assailant. "Did he blow you off, too?"

"Ye-yeah," the patient stammered, fear, anger, and confusion warring for dominance.

Cuddy watched House size up the man's physical condition, without pausing.

_Diagnosing, physically and psychologically._

"He wouldn't let me have any either," House said, gestured down to his missing leg. "Like I could fake this." He threw an irritated look back at the attending. "What an idiot."

House looked back to the attacker. "I'm thinking of suing him. You want in. I mean, I'm no doctor, but even I can see there's something wrong with you."

He was steadily inching toward the young man. "Your eyes are _really_ red and watering."

Subconsciously, the assailant raised his right hand and wiped at his right eye with the back of his hand. House moved even closer then, putting himself partially between the gurney and the assailant.

Cuddy's heart was racing as she watched him. She didn't dare say or do anything for fear of putting him in danger. She could only trust him, as she'd always trusted him in these situations. He knew what he was doing.

"Headache, I'll bet," House said, throwing her a fleeting glance before he continued talking. With the headache, House's charade would only be more distracting.

"My mom used to get them _really_ bad. _Doctors_ used to think she was faking, too," House complained with just the right amount of venom.

Then, suddenly, House grabbed at his stump, and groaned with pain.

It was fake. Cuddy knew when it was real, and this wasn't. But it was real enough to the assailant because he was now demanding medication for House, too, swearing about doctors in general, and how they thought they were "gods driving around in Mercedes."

"_Dude_, I'm with you … doctors _suck_," House gritted through his teeth then quickly directed the young man's attention to the security guards inching closer.

The attacker turned to see them, twisting partially away from the nurse with the move.

Once the man held the knife out again, this time toward the security guards, and began shouting for them to stay back, House made his move. With the flick of his wrist, he dislodged a syringe from beneath the wheelchair arm then shoved it into the guy's thigh, in the femoral vein and pressed the plunger.

After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, the guy dropped like a brick, knife clattering harmlessly to the floor, freeing the nurse.

While everyone else began dealing with the fallout, House looked at Cuddy and calmly gave her his diagnosis.

"Classic cluster headache presentation, complete with drooping eyelids, watery eyes, sweating, and nasal congestion."


	144. Chapter 144

**Part 144**

"Either that or lupus."

House's secondary diagnosis was delivered in his usual fashion and it calmed her like nothing else could.

"It's never lupus," she countered with a half-smile, recalling his oft-repeated mantra whenever the disease was mentioned as a diagnosis

"Until it is," House replied.

"What did you give him?"

That question came from the attending who was helping pick up the now disarmed, unconscious patient.

"Propofol," House said.

Propofol was a fast-acting anesthetic, but Cuddy figured House had to have given the man a fairly large dose to bypass the thirty-second window to unconsciousness.

"You're insane," the attending said. "We'll have to hold him for hours now."

"Would you rather be _holding_ compression on her jugular all the way to the OR?"

Cuddy met Tanya's gaze. The woman was still shaken, but her composure was intact enough for her to roll her eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" the attending asked after ordering the nurses to get the patient on the monitors.

"Oh, just a guy with a syringe who knows how to use it." House replied then looked over at Cuddy. "Gonna go get my leg."

Cuddy watched him wheel away.

"You know that jerk?" the attending asked her. She looked at him.

"Yes, and that _jerk_ just saved one life, maybe more," Cuddy replied then turned her attention to her patient. Seeing that the woman's vitals were looking better, she offered assurances, "Just relax now."

After making a few notes in the chart, Cuddy handed it off to the resident who'd requested the consult after seeing abnormal levels of a hormone that could be causing the patient to have intermittent episodes of tachycardia.

"Check her electrolyte levels, set her up for an EKG, and let me know the results of the x-ray when it comes back."

The resident nodded and thanked her while the patient asked her to thank House.

"I will," Cuddy replied then moved around the curtains to check on the other patient. His vitals were stable, and the attending was charting them and ordering tests.

"You might run an ANA while you're at it," she suggested, recalling House's alternative diagnosis.

The attending scowled at her in response. "You believe that jackass' diagnosis?"

The question was an absurd one — or would have been if the doctor knew her and House. But he didn't.

"He's an ass," Cuddy admitted, "And highly unorthodox, but he's more than earned my trust in his diagnostic skills."

"How?"

"I hired him once," Cuddy explained, adding, "He may be right. He may be _not right._ I just know if he mentioned it, it's worth checking out."

With that, she turned to go but the attending called after her. She looked back over her shoulder at him, saw he'd stepped from behind the curtain to see her.

"Who is he?" the doctor asked, confusion on his face.

"Ever hear of Gregory House?"

The man shook his head.

"Look him up," she said then went to find the man of the hour.

Cuddy found him just inside the emergency department, still sitting in the wheelchair but putting on his prosthetic. He was flanked by the chief of hospital security, the security officers from the ER, and the hospital counsel. The Dean of Medicine was also there.

As she approached, she heard the security chief explaining House's actions and mentioned the need to make an official police report. Not in relation to House, but in regards to the actions of the young man he'd incapacitated.

Still, just the thought of House being on the police's radar was enough to make her nervous. They'd only been back in Baltimore for two weeks.

"Dr. Cuddy, seems your patient Dr. House here helped diffuse a tricky situation in the ER," the dean said as she reached the group of men.

"Yes, I witnessed it," she told him. "The patient is stable and being monitored."

"That's good," the dean said.

"It is," the hospital counsel echoed then informed her that they would be collecting statements from her, the patients, and the other staff present about what occurred.

"Of course," she said, her worry unflagging. She chalked it up to House's history of taking things to the extreme in medicine and his status within the legal system.

Cuddy was going to tell him to call Stacy, but he beat her to it when the group dispersed. He pulled his cell out as they walked toward her office and the action only magnified her worry.

"House, is this going to—"

He cut her off quickly. "I don't know."

She heard fear in his voice, which unsettled her.

"What did the hospital lawyer say?" she asked. They were usually a good barometer on what possible charges could be filed against the hospital and the likelihood of it happening.

"Both the Dean and the lawyer thanked me for my intervention, but the security guys weren't too happy with my _initiative_," House said as he pulled up his contacts list. "The attorney didn't think there was any liability, for the hospital, but he didn't say anything about me. He knows I'm a patient here but he gave no indication he's aware of the status of my medical license or the probation thing."

"And you're not his client," Cuddy noted.

"Exactly," House replied.

As soon as they were behind the door to her office, he was dialing Stacy and offered an apology, blue eyes awash with honesty.

"I didn't think, Cuddy."


	145. Chapter 145

**Part 145**

Cuddy woke alone, but she wasn't surprised.

House's mood had been poor since the incident at the hospital not quite a week ago. He'd talked to his probation officer on Stacy's advice and was now awaiting that officer's decision to either let it slide, issue a warning, or request a hearing on the matter.

So far, the disorderly patient hadn't pressed any charges and there'd been no indication he would. In fact, House's lupus suggestion had put the autoimmune disease specialists on alert after the ANA test came back positive. They were now working it out, and had even talked to House about the situation. They hadn't ruled out lupus just yet, but they were looking for something more than headaches.

It was being back in limbo that had House keyed up, and herself. They'd both felt relieved after the plea deal was reached in New Jersey, but she hadn't realized how much until now.

Stacy was on standby if they needed her, but she said, at this point, where things went from here would be dependent on the probation officer's judgement.

Cuddy had gone with House to that meeting and the guy hadn't seemed inclined to do much of anything beyond making sure no one was hurt and that House hadn't been arrested. The officer did say, though, that he wished more of his charges were as inclined to save lives as House was. Then he'd said he'd look into it.

The lack of a quick, definitive answer had left them back in legal purgatory. All they could do was wait, according to Stacy.

Neither Cuddy or House excelled at waiting.

Rising, Cuddy went downstairs, wrapping her robe around her as she descended. She knew she would find him in the living room, either at the piano staring longingly at the keys, or in his old bed that still adorned her dining room. He would either be lying there staring at the ceiling, tossing the tennis ball into the air, or maybe sitting with his guitar, turning it or strumming now and again.

Regardless of where she found him, there'd be a glass of scotch. It struck her odd that he usually didn't drink any more than a sip or two of it. It seemed to just pacify him to have it near.

He was in the bed, tossing the tennis ball, in the dark. The drink was on the stool that had served as a nightstand.

He noted her arrival but neither of them said anything as she stretched out beside him, tucking her feet up under her robe.

Cuddy wished she knew what to do to give both of them some relief. During the afternoon and early evenings, Rachel provided some distraction, but the hours surrounding it varied from tense to anxious, and sometimes angry.

His anger was with himself, over having possibly jeopardized their situation. The rest was like it had been before the plea bargain.

One thing that was different, however, was that they weren't having sex, which wasn't helping the situation. It was usually a stress reliever for them, but he needed something that was no longer in their repertoire, which only added to his frustration, and hers. She was worried and scared and wanted to be close to him. She missed him.

Breaking the silence, she whispered her heart's desire, "I want to make love."

He stopped tossing the ball and took several deep breaths before responding.

"I don't know if I can."

Cuddy frowned. He hadn't indicated that he was having problems outside of the frustration of method and mechanics, and stress. Maybe those were the reasons, but if there was something more…

Laying a hand on his upper arm, Cuddy whispered his name and drew his gaze. "Talk to me?"

"Did I screw this up for us?"

This was the first time he'd directly asked the question. So she answered it just as directly.

"Not for us, no," she said softly. "I don't know about the legal stuff. But _we're_ okay."

"You're not angry that I didn't consider the legal ramifications before acting?"

"No," Cuddy shook her head. "What you did was impulsive, House, but it was the right thing. The attending was getting nowhere, and security would have had no chance if they'd drawn their guns."

"He was in pain," House noted and Cuddy knew that was something he comprehended all too well. "He just wanted it to stop. The knife was an afterthought."

"Why do you say that?"

"Pocket knives are not a typical street weapon," House said. "His had seen heavy usage as a tool. The calluses on his thumb aligned with the handle."

Cuddy once again marveled at his ability to see littlest things and make logical deductions. If he hadn't been medically inclined, he could have been a detective.

"Still, you probably saved Tanya's life, and everyone else in the vicinity."

"Yours was my priority."

"I know."

When he didn't say anything more, Cuddy moved closer to him, close enough to caress his cheek. There was that slow blink at her touch.

"I love you," she told him, then whispered, "I miss you."

Tenderness flooded his blue eyes, prompting her to close the distance to him and press her mouth to his.

Feeling his lips move beneath hers, she prolonged the kiss, lazily capturing his bottom one and worrying it gently with her own. He kissed her back, with the same leisurely tenderness. She tasted a hint of the scotch but him underneath.

"Do you want to try?" she breathed between the sensual caresses of their lips.

"Yeah," he murmured then took control of their kiss.

Cuddy let him and gave herself over to him, helping him position pillows and herself so that he could take the lead. It still wasn't what she knew he craved, but it was what he really needed.

She knew it was when he joined their bodies with a love-saturated whisper of her name.


	146. Chapter 146

**Part 146**

"Dr. Cuddy?"

In the middle of locking up her office for the day, Cuddy glanced up at hearing her name. She saw a familiar face approaching her.

Dr. Darryl Nolan.

Cuddy didn't know him well, having met him only once before, but she recognized him instantly. House had told her that Nolan was in Baltimore for the weekend, to spend some time with his daughter and also to meet with House this evening.

House was at home, though, which made her curious as to why Nolan was at her workplace. He must have noted her confusion because he immediately addressed it.

"I imagine you're wondering why I'm here," he said, his voice smooth and rich.

Cuddy smiled as she finished locking her office and turned to meet him. "You could say that."

"I thought I might catch a ride with you," he said, "That's if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Cuddy replied.

"Good," Nolan smiled and walked with her to her car. Along the way, they made small talk about the weather and the approach of Spring. It wasn't until they were in the car that he moved the conversation to more substantial things.

Cuddy had expected the change of subject. During their journey to the parking garage, his tone had been conversational but there'd been a sense of innate curiosity underlying it. She was a mystery to him, she supposed, beyond whatever House may have told him.

"So House won't tell me how you two met," Nolan said as he fastened his seatbelt. "He said I should ask you."

Cuddy cut Nolan a look. "That figures," she mused. "Question is, did he tell you if he was okay with me telling you?"

Nolan hummed in both amusement and again, curiosity.

"What?" she asked as she pulled out of the garage and onto the roadway.

"Are you being cautious? Or are you avoiding the question like he did?"

Cuddy wanted to roll her eyes, but with a mental health professional in the car, she resisted the urge.

"Let's just say I once broke his trust and divulged something I shouldn't have," Cuddy confessed, recalling her shame at having mentioned House's stay at Mayfield to Lucas. "I won't do that again."

"He said you'd say that."

Cuddy didn't doubt it. House knew her better than she knew herself.

"He also said you could give me all the 'titillating' details if you wanted."

That sounded exactly like House. She wondered if he'd accented the first three letters of the word, like he would have with her or Wilson, or anyone else.

"I think I'll keep those to myself," Cuddy mused. "But we met at Michigan. I was pre-med and he was a legend already on campus. We had a one-night stand."

"I see," Nolan said in that way that all mental health professionals seem to speak. "It must have been a memorable one."

Cuddy didn't blush, though she would have years ago. It had been an incredible night and some of the things they'd done…

"It was," Cuddy answered honestly. "But you already know that House is an impossible man to forget, no matter what your relationship with him."

Nolan asked another question. "What was he like then? Before his leg? Before the drugs?"

Cuddy smiled. "We didn't know each other that long," she confessed. "But from what I do know of him from then and what I'd heard on campus, I'd say he was the same in many respects."

"How so?"

"Brilliant. Irrepressible. Bigger than life with the ego to go along with it," Cuddy said. "He could also be utterly disarming, charming even. He was passionate about everything, but there was a gentleness to him."

Finding herself smiling at her assessment, Cuddy glanced over to see Nolan watching her.

"That was behind closed doors?" Nolan asked.

"Yes," Cuddy answered, her voice going soft with memories of how gentle he'd been with her a couple times that night. Particularly the last time.

"And how is he different?" the psychiatrist asked, interrupting her jaunt down memory lane.

That question was harder to answer, depending on _when _he was asking about. Cuddy decided to cover the bases.

"After the infarction," she began. "He was in pain, in every way a person can be."

She didn't feel the need to elaborate any further and Nolan didn't seem to want to know more, likely because he already knew that part.

"And now?"

That, Cuddy surmised, was probably new territory for the psychiatrist, which only she could provide insight on. She'd known him longer than anyone else in his life, except his mother.

"Still House," she said, smiling. "Everything that I love about him, that made me fall in love with him is still there. But there's a peace about him that I've never really seen in him before." She paused then added, "It's what I've wanted for him, for a very long time."

Nolan was silent for a while. "I think it's what he's wanted for himself for a very long time."

Cuddy couldn't disagree with that. Despite the years House spent wallowing in pain and misery and hell-bent on self-destruction, she truly believed he had deep down wanted to be happy, or at least not miserable. He'd usually settled, on a good day, for being less miserable.

As Cuddy turned into her neighborhood, quiet descended in the car and it wasn't until they were on the street that led to her home that Nolan spoke again.

"He loves you unconditionally."

Cuddy knew that, and that she'd failed to return it when he needed it most.

"I failed him the first time around in that," she confessed, frowning. "I broke his heart."

"That seems to be on the mend," Nolan said gently, then asked. "How about yours?"

Cuddy smiled at that question as she parked in front of her building. Turning off the ignition, she looked at Nolan.

"Healing. We both are."

"Together," Nolan nodded in what was clearly approval.

"Yes," Cuddy said softly.


	147. Chapter 147

Apologies for the slowing of updates. Been rather hectic still on the homefront. Squeezing in writing where I can. :)

* * *

**Part 147**

Cuddy smiled when she entered her living room, Dr. Nolan right behind her, to find House asleep on the couch and Rachel crashed atop him. They were both snoring softly

Where the scene touched her heart, it made Nolan's eyebrows climb. She figured he, like everyone else, thought House couldn't and didn't relate to children well. But Cuddy knew better.

If anything, House related to children far better than to most adults. Their demands on him were simpler, their motives rarely nefarious, and they were generally more honest in their interactions with him. They were, she'd noted over the years, the patients he always fought hardest for and when he lost one, it affected him deeply.

Rachel had him wrapped around her little finger. She wasn't sure he was aware of it yet, but the fact he was with her right now, an arm around her to secure her to his chest, spoke volumes as to how much he'd accepted her in his life.

Not sure if House would be embarrassed over it with Nolan present, Cuddy quietly motioned toward the kitchen, where she could hear Janice prepping for supper. Nolan followed her, but she noticed he cast a glance back and smiled.

"Now that's something I never expected to see," Nolan said some minutes later as he took a seat at the table with a cup of tea. Cuddy had prepared the tea herself, after sending Janice home early so she and Nolan could talk privately.

Sitting across from him, Cuddy asked, "He's never mentioned Rachel?"

Nolan shook his head. "We've never spoken of her specifically."

Cuddy wasn't surprised. His relationship with Rachel, while confusing to him on some levels, was the least complicated of his life, and probably the last one he needed counseling for.

"He resented her initially," Cuddy told Nolan. "He was the _child_ in my life for a long time and the change in attention…"

She let her voice trail off and saw a knowing smile cross Nolan's mouth.

"She appears to have won him over."

Cuddy flashed a wily smile at Nolan over the rim of her teacup.

"I'm not sure he's grasped the extent of it quite yet," Cuddy shared her observation from earlier. "But she adores him, always has, and has never been shy about letting him know."

"Kids are good judges of character," Nolan stated.

"There are some people who would dispute that, in regards to House," Cuddy mused.

"Possibly." It was a cagey response, but not unexpected considering Nolan's profession. "Have you ever disputed it?"

That question took Cuddy aback. She had never questioned House's character. His methods, yes. His choices, yes. His actions, yes. His sanity, sometimes. But never his character.

Despite his curmudgeonly exterior and how he practiced medicine like a high-wire act, the lies and games, the general assery and darker parts of himself, he was ultimately a very vulnerable man, and he did care … and love.

Cuddy had gotten her first look at that man in Michigan. Between the intensely passionate moments, there'd been ones of incredible tenderness and emotional honesty. Knowing him now, after all these years, she realized that it wasn't all that surprising that he'd intended to come back to her. He didn't just open up like that.

Shaking her head emphatically, Cuddy set her cup down then told Nolan what she'd told House, more than once. "House is _the _most incredible man I've ever known."

Nolan took her answer in stride, which she supposed was required in his job.

He did look at her curiously, though, noting, "You call him House, not Greg?"

Recalling her conversation with Stacy not too long ago, Cuddy explained, "It's who he is."

"It's an endearment," Nolan smiled.

Cuddy mirrored the expression. "And it has the added benefit of making my mother crazy."

Nolan smiled again then segued, "How did you take his return to the living?"

Cuddy looked at him for a moment, assessing, then asked, "Are you here to counsel House or psychoanalyze me?"

Nolan smiled. "Just curious about the woman who clearly loves him despite the fact he drove a car into her home."

Skeptical, Cuddy muttered, "Right."

"Truthfully," Nolan responded, "But the fact you dodged the question does tell me something."

"Like what?" Cuddy asked, knowing she was scowling at the man.

"That you learned from _the master_ of dodge and deflect."

Glancing to the door, Cuddy saw House standing in the kitchen doorway, Rachel cradled in one arm. How he'd managed to get up, pick her up and amble to the kitchen with a crutch she would never know, but she quickly rose to help him.

"He's a pain, isn't he?" House asked Cuddy as she took a groggy Rachel from him.

"And you're not?" she countered, catching his gaze.

"That's not a nice thing to say to a cripple, Cuddy," he countered, eyes filled with mirth despite the scowl on his face.

"Shut up and talk to your psychiatrist," Cuddy said, unable to keep from smiling as she shook her head at him.

"I can't do both," he pointed out as she started to leave the kitchen.

"You're a genius, figure it out," Cuddy threw over her shoulder as she took Rachel out of the kitchen and headed toward the stairs. She needed to wake her daughter up or she was going to be a nightmare to put down later.

"Supper?" she heard as she walked through the dining room.

Smiling, Cuddy replied, "You can figure that out, too. Janice prepped some things. They're in the fridge. See what you can make of them."

"Tyrant." It was a playful taunt.

"Ass," Cuddy taunted right back then smiled brighter when she heard Nolan begin to laugh.

"You have truly found your equal, House."


	148. Chapter 148

**Part 148**

"Nolan says our relationship is healthy."

Cuddy smiled as she washed a dinner plate and glanced at House, who stood next to her drying another. He had managed to balance himself against the counter so he could help.

"I agree with him," Cuddy mused, though she wouldn't necessarily have a couple years ago. They'd been as bad for each other as good because neither of them had been ready for a real relationship and the work it took — especially her.

"He also agrees with me that you are _smokin' hot_," House countered, throwing a look at her.

"You did not ask him that," Cuddy asserted, pretty sure he hadn't. He might like ogling her and telling her that in front of others, but she doubted seriously he just randomly asked other men if she was hot — especially his psychiatrist.

"Nope, but men can tell these things about other men," he said, his expression one of silly seriousness as he cocked his head.

House was a man of a thousand contradictory faces and gestures, Cuddy decided as he went back to drying the dishes and she resumed washing.

After a while, House spoke again. "The kid came up."

Cuddy smiled as she handed him another plate. "I'm not surprised."

He didn't elaborate further and she didn't push, just worked with him to finish cleaning up after supper, then eventually made their way upstairs for the night. It wasn't until later that he talked more about his conversation with Nolan.

Cuddy had woken alone and found House standing in the hall outside Rachel's bedroom, watching her sleep. His face was partially visible in the light coming from the street lamps below the bay windows.

From the doorway of their bedroom, Cuddy watched him, not wanting to disturb him, just waited for his highly attuned senses to pick up on her presence.

When he did, he glanced at her then went back to watching Rachel. It was an invitation and she accepted, moving quietly to join him, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe.

Cuddy looked a moment at her daughter then focused her attention on House. He was thinking, mulling something over. He enlightened her as to what in a low whisper.

"I have no idea how to be a father."

"I had no idea how to be a mother," Cuddy confessed, matching the quiet softness of his voice. "I thought I knew, but the experience has turned out to be quite different."

House looked at her.

"I never considered being one, until you were undergoing IVF."

Cuddy had suspected as much but doubted he'd wanted to take on the full role. At the time, their relationship had been rife with sexual tension and punctuated by a fondness that ultimately became the foundation to what they had now, but it hadn't been what it needed to be for _that_ type of commitment, even as just a donor. Still…

"I almost asked you," she told him.

Blue eyes flickered with emotion. "I wanted you to."

"I know," Cuddy said, remembering how he'd flippantly asked about auditioning then dodged any direct questions about the possibility. Instead, he'd repeatedly lectured her about selecting a donor she liked, not just some nameless, faceless guy from a file full of lies.

"Why didn't you?"

There was no accusation in the question, just a genuine desire to know. Cuddy saw it in his eyes. She could only be honest.

"Mixed signals, initially," she said softly. "Then fear."

He nodded once and looked back at Rachel as he gave voice to one of the things that she'd feared.

"It would have meant something that would have been impossible for either of us to ignore."

"Yes," she whispered, "No matter the method of conception."

He looked at her again, his eyes wide in surprise. "You wanted to try the old-fashioned way?"

Cuddy smiled at him fondly. "Well, if things were going to get complicated…"

A corner of his mouth turned up. "In for a penny, in for a pound?"

"Something like that."

His gaze dropped to the floor when he spoke again.

"Why did you stop trying?"

"I miscarried," Cuddy said quietly, a wave of sadness settling over her. It had lessened over time but was still there when she thought about it.

House's gaze shot to hers, shock filling his blue eyes. Obviously Wilson had never told him.

Seeing his shock turn to worry, for her, Cuddy breathed, "I'm okay. It was a long time ago."

"Not that long," he said then reached across the distance and caressed her cheek. "I just thought it didn't take."

"The first two didn't," she told him and watched his eyes search hers.

Then, softly, "I'm sorry."

Cuddy felt tears beginning to well. He was apologizing, not just offering comfort and commiseration.

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."

"But I wasn't exactly supportive … through any of it."

Self-recrimination thickened his words.

"The injections…" she began, wanting to console him, but stopped when he moved to her.

His eyes searched hers a moment before he bent and kissed her, lips grazing hers gently, then capturing them in a loving, lingering caress.

"I love you," he whispered then kissed her again before she could speak.

Tears falling, Cuddy melted back against the doorframe and let herself be comforted.


	149. Chapter 149

**Part 149**

Inadequacy.

Cuddy surmised every person had at least one thing that they felt inadequate about. For her, it had been in her inability to carry and give birth to a child. Three attempts. Three failures, the last the most painful.

The question about being a good mother had been answered with Rachel, but that feeling of biological inadequacy had remained. She really had wanted to bear a child of her own but she'd chosen not to dwell on it.

Initially, she'd refocused her energy on her career, and then Rachel.

Despite the awkward and difficult early days of bonding with her daughter, Cuddy had found motherhood a rewarding experience. It could still be trying at times. There was a lot of responsibility that came with nurturing a child, not to mention balancing work and home life, and school and activities.

Cuddy felt she did okay on that front for the most part, mainly because she was an admitted serial planner. But she'd had to learn to go with the flow when plans were derailed for whatever reason. In the past, she would have fought tooth-and-nail to go upstream just to make sure her plans weren't spoiled, but she didn't do that any more.

And she was happier for it, even if that feeling of inadequacy poked its head up now and again, like tonight.

Feeling House's hand move over her body, above her womb, Cuddy felt more tears fall. She had never shared her grief with anyone, except for those few awkward moments with Wilson in her office at Princeton-Plainsboro.

But it wasn't awkward sharing it now, with House. He was who she should have shared it with anyway. He understood what she felt, in his own way, from his own experiences, and he was able to give her the comfort now that she'd needed then.

That he hadn't been there for her then was weighing on him. She felt it in the tender touches of his lips to hers, her tears salting their kisses. More apologies.

Her hand sliding down his forearm, she covered his hand with hers and stilled him, pressed him gently against her.

Blue eyes found hers and in that moment, she found herself immensely relieved that she had not asked him to be her donor because she wasn't sure what losing _his_ child would have done to them.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He gave her a gentle smile then suggested something that made her monumentally happy.

"We should do something with the kid tomorrow."

His ability to know what made her happy was the opposite side of the coin — his ability to know what would drive her right up the wall.

"She's been asking to go to the aquarium again," Cuddy said softly then warned, "But there's a lot of walking."

"I'll manage," he said, sounding and looking undeterred.

"There are benches around," Cuddy told him but didn't tell him they also have wheelchairs, if he needed one. He had grown _less_ hostile about that mode of getting around but didn't want to push it.

"Sounds good."

Cuddy smiled. "She'll talk your ear off."

"How is that any different than any other day?" he teased.

Cuddy laughed. She supposed it wasn't. Rachel was a talker, but when House was around, she talked non-stop at times. It's almost like she was making up for lost time.

Cuddy supposed they all were, which is why she wasn't surprised by the next question he asked.

"What does she like … besides pirates?"

"A lot of things," Cuddy smiled then talked softly with him about her daughter until the need to sleep eventually overtook them.


	150. Chapter 150

**Part 150**

House was free and clear.

His actions nearly two weeks earlier in the ER to stop a knife-wielding assailant hadn't even warranted a warning from his probation officer, who'd called as Cuddy was readying Rachel for a trip to the aquarium.

The officer's investigation had turned up only that House had acted to save lives, including the patient's — who had since been diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disorder, thanks to House's suggestion of testing for lupus.

Cuddy and House had been duly relieved by the news, which had definitely made for a great way to start the weekend.

As House and Rachel watched the sharks, Cuddy observed them. She felt good things at seeing them slowly building on their relationship. It was an extraordinary give and take. When Rachel talked, he listened. When he talked, Rachel listened.

Cuddy knew from experience that that level of attention wasn't always attainable and that most parents struggled due to the daily stresses in life, but it seemed almost effortless with the two loves of her life.

Though Cuddy would love to take credit for the connection between them, she knew it had little to do with her, beyond their initial introduction and bringing House back into their lives. What had come out of that was their own.

Last night, House had expressed a deepening interest in Rachel's likes and dislikes. He knew some of them but he'd been out of her life for two years and kids' interests were like revolving doors. Ironically, the pirate phase had stuck, probably because he'd introduced it to her.

Cuddy stifled a laugh when she heard Rachel tell House the sharks were cute and heard his reply.

"Cute?" He scowled at the tank's inhabitants then looked down at Rachel. "Kid, remind me to show you Jaws when you're old enough."

Rachel looked up at him intently. "What's Jaws?"

"A movie, sweetheart," Cuddy cut in, smiling when House glanced at her.

"Why are you standing back there?"

"Because _I've_ seen Jaws."

"You're safe, Cuddy. You're not gonna need a bigger—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Cuddy cut him off, afraid of where he was going to take it.

He just grinned and suggested to Rachel that they should go look at the next tank down.

"Okay," Rachel said enthusiastically and skipped ahead while Cuddy and House followed, hands linking.

"She's having fun," he noted.

"I think you are, too," Cuddy said, but kept her eyes on her daughter as she slipped through the crowds of adults and children.

"I've never been to one of these."

Considering his interest in almost all areas of science, Cuddy found herself somewhat surprised at his confession.

"Never?" she glanced up at him.

He shook his head, but his eyes were still on Rachel, watchful.

"Nothing like this. But you remember what zoos were like when we were kids," he said. "Exhibition for a buck not to educate and promote conservation."

That was true.

"Look, House! Look!" Rachel exclaimed.

Reaching her, Cuddy and House looked to where she was pointing and saw a giant sea turtle lumbering gracefully through the water.

"He's my favorite!" Rachel told House.

Cuddy watched him take in the creature then look at Rachel.

"Him? Not dolphins?"

The question, Cuddy knew, stemmed from Rachel's earlier excitement over the dolphin exhibit, where they'd spent the better part of a half-hour just watching the gray mammals play.

Rachel nodded emphatically, though, and pointed again at the turtle. "Him."

Cuddy watched House as she listened to Rachel talk about how pretty the turtle was and that they lived a long time. His eyes took in her daughter's every gesture, as if he was trying to discern a difference in her reaction to the turtle versus the dolphins, to find out which she really did like best.

He must not have had much luck with his diagnosis because when they reached the gift shop, Cuddy watched him pretend to head toward the bathroom only to enlist a clerk to covertly pick out a small stuffed animal of each of the creatures.

"Couldn't tell?" Cuddy asked him when he passed off the bag to her, trying to keep it out of Rachel's line of sight.

"Born poker face," he asserted.

"Hey, you taught her," she reminded him.

"The game, but not that face," he said, watching Rachel look through the other toys and trinkets for sale. "Takes years to come up with one that good. She could have taken Wilson for everything he owned, in one hand."

Cuddy smiled at the observation and so did House, even though his gaze held a measure of grief.

"I miss him, Cuddy," he told her.

Laying her hand on House's chest, Cuddy caressed him gently and spoke softly.

"I know."


	151. Chapter 151

I just want to say thank you to everyone who is still reading and commenting. I really appreciate the support and your patience with the slowing of updates - I know I spoiled you :). This part is one that has been on my mind to write and now was the time to address it. I hope you enjoy it.

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**Part 151**

"This is not happening here."

Cuddy's voice was a whip-sharp whisper as she faced off with her sister, Julia, on the front porch of her home.

They had just returned from the aquarium, barely settled into the house when Cuddy saw her sister on the stoop, ready to let herself inside without so much as a knock.

With House and Rachel upstairs, Cuddy had quickly stepped out and stopped Julia from entering, hoping to head off a conflict.

"Oh yes, it is," Julia responded, indignation radiating off her.

"No, it's not," Cuddy said with a definitiveness that would have even stopped House in the old days. "I know you're angry, but Rachel is inside—"

"You let her near that bastard!" Julia's indignation went to a whole new level. "I can't believe you, Lis! The man drove a _car_ into your house! While I was in it! While my husband was in it! While Jeremy was in it! When Rachel _could_ have been in it!"

Cuddy crossed her arms and waited for her sister to run out of steam. She wasn't going to take part in a shouting match with her only sibling. She was going to stand her ground, just like she had with her mother.

"Don't you have anything to say?!" Julia finally said, arms raising and dropping in an exasperating gesture.

"Are you done?" Cuddy asked, looking Julia in the eye. "Or are you ready to _actually_ listen?"

Julia scoffed. "What is there you can say that will possibly make sense? The man is _insane_."

Cuddy sighed. "Jules, you can't ask me to say something and then dismiss anything I might say _before_ I've even had the chance to say it."

Julia crossed her arms and took up a posture that exuded sheer hostility.

"Fine, say it, Lisa. Tell me why my big sister is willing to let a lunatic back into her life, live in her home, and be around her daughter."

"The simple answer is that I love him," Cuddy said and braced herself for the second barrage.

"_Love _him? You love _him_? What the hell—"

Cuddy cut her sister off before she could continue, trying to keep as calm as possible.

"Jules," she said sharply. "I know you're angry and you have every right. But I'm going to tell you what I told Mom. I have made a very carefully considered choice that is not up for debate. You can say your piece. You can call him whatever names you want, but House is in my life and a part of my life."

"For God's sake, why … and don't say it's because you love him, because that's not enough. There's a reason you dumped him in the first place and I don't know how that could have changed, especially after what happened," Julia said, her tone had become less confrontational and more pleading.

"Leaving him was a mistake," Cuddy stated plainly, adding quickly, "And he's changed."

Julia huffed. "People _don't_ change, Lisa."

Cuddy stifled a smile at that. House used to say the same thing.

"Until they do," Cuddy said and watched her sister's expression become one of disbelief. "You can believe it or not, Jules," Cuddy continued. "But I've known House for half my life and I can tell you he is different."

"What about the drugs? He's an addict, Lisa," Julia said, clearly looking for another avenue of attack.

Cuddy knew it would come up at some point. Her mother hadn't mentioned it, but it wasn't a surprise that Julia would bring up the subject.

"Yes, he's an addict. He will always be an addict," Cuddy said. "But he is clean."

"Yeah, _for now_," Julia scoffed yet again. "Will you dump him again if he has another relapse? Will I need to call a wrecker service, or the police and coroner?"

"_You_ don't need to do anything," Cuddy said, beginning to lose patience. "And if he relapses, then we deal with it, not you. I won't walk away again."

Julia looked at her for several long moments then shook her head. "He actually has you thinking what happened was your fault."

"He has accepted full responsibility for his actions," Cuddy shook her head in return. "But I am aware of where I was at fault in our relationship."

"God, you act like this is some sort of … sign of relational maturity."

"It is growth, for both of us," Cuddy said unapologetically. "But again, you can choose to believe that or not, accept it or not. I'm not going to debate it."

"So you're choosing him?" Julia said, arms tightening across her chest.

Cuddy allowed herself a faint smile. "I've been choosing him from the moment I met him, Jules," she confessed then echoed words that House had said to her once, when he'd been drunk and rain-soaked, "I will always choose him."

"Over your family?" Julia looked hurt now.

Cuddy shook her head. "He is my family, too," she said softly. "I know you may never understand that, Jules. I know you may never forgive him, or even me. But your understanding is not required for my happiness."

"Happiness?"

Incredulity had returned, tinged again with hostility, but Cuddy refused to rile.

"Yes, happiness," Cuddy said, looking directly in her sister's eyes and pleading with her to listen, wanting Jules to understand that aspect if she understood nothing else about her choice. "He makes me happy, Jules. And he makes Rachel happy. And we make him happy."

"He drives you crazy," Julia asserted.

Cuddy could tell her sister was obviously grasping at straws now, frustrated with being unable to sway Cuddy or provoke a more volatile response.

"Yes," Cuddy said because there was no point in denying it. He could drive her absolutely up the wall and she didn't expect that had changed.

"He hurts you."

Cuddy nodded. "Hurt occurs in every relationship, intended and unintended. It's what happens when you care about someone. You know that."

"Yes, but Lisa, this man has been beyond cruel to you." Julia was pleading now. "And he could have killed you."

With a sigh, Cuddy held her sister's gaze. "Jules, I had this very conversation with myself for two solid years. Believe me when I say there's no argument that you can bring up that I haven't already thought of, and more, because you can't possibly know every detail of my life. But this is my life."

"And Rachel's."

Cuddy frowned. "Do you honestly think I don't know that? That I haven't considered the well-being of my child?"

"Well, since you didn't give birth to her—"

Cuddy's anger surged so suddenly and with such force that she audibly gasped and flinched. The blatant cruelty in the words was just…

House had said some downright nasty things to her during her IVF treatments, her attempt to adopt Joy, and then when adopting Rachel, but not a single one of those things had been delivered with such a deeply personal intent to hurt. Lashing out in a fit of anger, yes. To make her look at something she didn't want to see, yes. But to just be cruel because he could, no. Nothing like what Julia had just done.

"You know, House can be a world-class prick," Cuddy said, her voice edged with fury and pain. "But he has _never_ said anything quite so vile to me as what you just did."

Julia started to speak again but Cuddy held up her hand to stop her.

"You have the right to express your anger, but let's not pretend that this exchange is about your worry for me and Rachel."

"Lisa—"

"No, this conversation is over and I won't have it with you again," Cuddy said then turned and went back inside her home, locking the door behind her.


	152. Chapter 152

**Part 152**

When Cuddy told House what Julia had said, he went stone-cold silent and his blue gaze simultaneously turned fiery and icy. He was cold fury personified.

Standing across the kitchen from her, Cuddy wasn't sure what he was going to do next. In the past, he would have gotten on his motorcycle, shown up on Julia's doorstep and verbally filleted her. Or maybe he would have found a way to humiliate Julia in public.

Either way, he would have acted without thinking, the impulse for swift and immediate retribution would have been impossible to resist. But that was old House and the man standing before her was different.

Cuddy didn't think a prosthetic limb or lack of personal transportation would have stopped him if he had a mind to respond in that fashion, making her thankful for his self-control. She had probably already permanently ruined her relationship with Julia. Never mind that any action on his part would only further cement Julia's opinions of House.

Struggling with her own anger and reeling from the pain inflicted by Julia's words, Cuddy just looked at him and the longer she looked, the more tears threatened. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to give the hateful dig any power but…

"Come here."

The words were spoken softly, softer than Cuddy had expected considering how angry House was. But with them, his expression also changed, rage becoming intense concern — for her. It was a look she'd grown increasingly familiar with since their reunion.

Losing her battle with her tears, Cuddy closed the distance to him. She buried her face in his chest when he enfolded her with his left arm.

"Your sister is a right bitch," he declared as he propped his chin on the top of her head. Then he shifted and pressed a kiss to her scalp, whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Cuddy breathed into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, then murmured, "What upsets me most is that if she could say it, she's clearly been thinking it."

"Screw the condescending shrew and what she thinks," House said, bowing his head to press his cheek against hers. "Biology doesn't matter. Rachel is your kid, Cuddy, and she knows she's loved. And _I_ know you wouldn't let me near her if you thought I was a danger to her."

"You have never been a danger to her," Cuddy said, her arms tightening around his waist, reinforcing her words.

In the past, her only concern before had been that he would become a part of Rachel's life and then go away — and Cuddy herself had made that a self-fulfilling prophecy. It hadn't been his choice at all.

"What do you think we should feed the kid for supper?"

Cuddy smiled at the change of subject, drew back and looked up at House.

"You cooking?"

"If you want. Or we can order in. Or go out."

Cuddy was leaning toward ordering in since he'd walked a good portion of the day. His leg had to be tired, and she could only imagine how sore his stump was from all the activity. To gauge him, she asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore," he confessed.

"Then let's order in," she said. "I want the rest of this day to be ours."

It ended up being just that.

To ensure they wouldn't be disturbed, Cuddy had locked all the doors, closed all the blinds and shut off all but the necessary lamps. She'd even turned off her phone after calling her service to give them House's number instead. She wanted to remain reachable and neither her mother or Julia had his number.

House and Rachel had eaten pizza and drank sodas while Cuddy had a salad and tea. They'd watched a movie then, some computer-animated cartoon about a family of superheroes that Cuddy tuned out as she focused on taking in Rachel's delight.

Next to her, House was relaxed back into the cushions, an arm around her. She had her head laid on his shoulder while Rachel sat in front of him. He was enjoying the movie, too, laughing and commenting back and forth with Rachel whenever something really exciting happened.

As for Cuddy, she was happy, having recaptured the contentment of the day at the aquarium. The confrontation with Julia was still on her mind, but tucked to the back and away from the present and she kept it that way through the movie and the root beer floats after.

Not wanting it to end, Cuddy let Rachel stay up late just so they could all play cards together in what was, for them, an insanely domestic evening. And she was completely happy.

After they all cleaned up for bed, House suggested Rachel sleep with them. It was a very rare request on his part but his perception was a powerful thing, and he knew her well. There were times it annoyed her but overall she appreciated his gift. She did so particularly tonight.

The continued closeness was a balm for Cuddy as she lay between her daughter and her lover. The sting of Julia's words was lessened by the love that surrounded her. She held a sleeping Rachel in her arms, while House held her. It was beautiful and perfect and _exactly_ what she needed.

"Thank you," Cuddy whispered.

She felt a kiss pressed to the back of her head then a soft, rumbled reply.

"You're welcome."

They slept.


	153. Chapter 153

**Part 153**

After putting Rachel down for a Sunday afternoon nap, Cuddy sought out House.

He had come up with her, saying he was considering a nap, too. His stump was still sore from the aquarium excursion and he needed to take the pressure off it as much as possible today.

Cuddy found him laying in their bed, his prosthetic limb and crutch set aside. He wasn't asleep, but rather, he was looking up something on his computer. She still hadn't found out what he was up to with the device so, seeing the amused expression on his face, she decided to see if she could find out.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, moving around to her side of the bed.

He glanced up at her, replied, "It's a surprise," and quickly shut the lid to conceal the screen from her view. He then set the computer on the nightstand.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" she asked, kicking off her shoes and getting into bed with him. "Or is it going to cause me major embarrassment?"

He grin was wily. "You won't dislike it."

Cagey answer, but not atypical of House.

"I'm trusting you on that," she told him, taking a leap of faith in the changed man.

Something in his expression changed, indicating he was touched at her words. He shifted then, moving her pillow back to her side before laying down on his back. He held out his arm to invite her closer.

Cuddy smiled and snuggled against his side.

"Thank you again for yesterday," she said softly, smoothing her hand across his t-shirt-clad chest.

He took a deep breath. "If you think it will make any difference, I will still offer an apology."

Cuddy patted him gently, appreciating his offer, but her beliefs on that front had not changed.

"She's not ready to hear it, much less accept it," Cuddy said softly. "I wish it were different, but it is what it is."

They were quiet for a while and Cuddy thought he might have dozed off, but a gentle question indicated otherwise.

"Did you think about trying again?"

He wasn't talking about Julia, but something infinitely more personal — a baby.

"I was resigned after the miscarriage," she answered honestly. "It just hurt too much."

"And now?"

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat at that question. It was barely louder than a breath.

"With you?" she asked even though she knew the answer.

When he didn't respond, she rose up onto her elbow and looked at him. He met her gaze.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't want that with you," she said quietly before adding, "But with my age and medical history I doubt I'd be able to carry to term. And the thought of losing _our_ child … I don't know that I would survive that, House."

Actually, Cuddy was pretty certain of that she wouldn't, and she feared what it would do to their relationship. She just got him back and didn't want to lose him for a pipe dream — even if it was a powerful and beautiful one.

Cuddy watched him absorb her words. She knew the doctor in him understood her health concerns, and the rest was, in truth, a rational evaluation of fallout if her body couldn't meet the demands of a pregnancy.

His understanding was apparent in the blue of his eyes. The rest of what he felt was communicated by way of a caress to her back.

"It'd be a great looking kid," he said, a smirk forming on his mouth.

Cuddy smiled. "Without a doubt."

His hand slid to the back of her neck, beneath her hair. His eyes held hers, his smirk became a matching smile as he drew her down to him.

"Wanna fool around?"

Still smiling, Cuddy whispered, "Okay."


	154. Chapter 154

**Part 154**

The wipers were thumping in a rapid rhythm as they moved back and forth across the windshield to clear Cuddy's view of the road.

She was tired and ready to get home. It'd been a long day. She'd spent most of it in her office, reviewing mid-terms and taking care of paperwork backlog so she could enjoy the Spring break.

She, House and Rachel would be leaving for South Carolina in the morning, taking the train, to spend the week in a beach house in Charleston. At first, Cuddy had been concerned about the destination with House's artificial limb, but he'd told her it was fine, that he'd just keep to the deck and enjoy the sun.

As for Rachel, she was beyond excited about the train ride, the beach, and the possibility of seeing dolphins.

Cuddy had only taken her to the beach once before and it had been rainy the entire time they were there. But Charleston's forecast looked to be delightful for much of the week.

Truth be told, they needed to get away for a while.

Stacy had called the day before to say a hearing had been scheduled with the New Jersey State Medical Board in two weeks. While both House and Cuddy were glad to finally have a date for the hearing, the news had also ratcheted up their anxiety.

House had become particularly stressed in the last twenty-four hours and Cuddy knew that would only mount over the next couple of weeks if he were to spend it idle without distraction. Spring break was just what he needed, what they all needed.

Since her confrontation with Julia a week ago, Cuddy had requested Stacy draw up papers making House Rachel's legal guardian. It would supersede her previous directions that Julia take Rachel in case something happened to Cuddy. She'd also had a medical proxy reissued, again with House having the final say in any medical decisions regarding Cuddy's health, and Rachel's if Cuddy were incapacitated.

It had become a necessity after Julia's meltdown. Cuddy knew her sister would never let House be a part of Rachel's life and she couldn't bear the thought of it. Rachel loved him very much, and he loved her, was just finding his way with her. To tear them apart at a time when they would need each other would be unconscionably cruel.

On Stacy's advice, Cuddy had designated a secondary guardian and proxy, just in case anyone made a big deal about House's criminal record — her mother. And she had Stacy add herself as a third.

Cuddy'd had a long conversation with her mother a few days after Julia's ambush, talking to and explaining her wishes. If nothing else, Cuddy had told her mother, under no circumstances was House to be cut out of Rachel's life. Ever.

Cuddy's mother had agreed, saying, "He is still a _shlub_, but Rachel loves him and he obviously cares about her."

Just in case, though, Cuddy had Stacy add a clause into the documents that swore her mother to that. She wanted to leave nothing to chance.

Cuddy hadn't talked to House about it yet, but planned to while they were in Charleston, away from everyone and everything that could distract them. She knew it was going to come as a surprise to him but she trusted him with Rachel. He'd changed so much. He and Rachel were growing closer every day. She did not want _anything_ to derail that, for either of them.

Stopped at the last light before turning into her neighborhood, Cuddy let out a deep, relaxing breath, tension bleeding away as she thought about the coming week. She was so ready to hear the surf and gulls, and bask in warm sunshine.

When the light turned green, Cuddy released the brake and slowly made the turn into Bolton Hill.

She saw only a brief flash of headlights in her side window before she felt the slam.

Then everything went dark.


	155. Chapter 155

**Part 155**

"Dr. House, you are not licensed to practice medicine in this state or this hospital. You need to get out of the way and let us do our jobs."

The words were muffled but Cuddy heard the sternness in them. And she heard the frustration and anger in House's when he responded.

"Just give me the damned syringe, you idiot."

Someone must have given it to him because House's next words were "thank you" and Cuddy heard relief in them.

"Dr. House…"

Someone else was trying to intervene. It was a bad idea.

"Screw off," Cuddy heard House bark then he was talking to her, his tone crisp and direct, "Cuddy, wake up and talk to me."

Whatever he'd injected pushed her to the surface of full wakefulness. She opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness of the lights above her. A quick glance around told her she was in the ER at Hopkins. She looked for House but couldn't see him.

"House?"

"Right here." His voice came from above her head.

Cuddy tried to arch her neck back to see him, but he immediately placed his hands on either side of her face, stilling her. It was then she realized she was wearing a neck brace, and she was on a backboard.

"Stay still," he said. "We need to do an x-ray before we take you out of that collar."

"What happened?" Cuddy asked. Last thing she remembered was being at the stoplight, not far from home.

"Some jerk ran the light and hydroplaned into the rear fender of your car, spun you into a power pole," House said and moved around so she could see him. Worry was etched into the lines of his face.

"The car?"

"Totaled," he said. "You've got some bruises and scrapes, a cut on your forehead from the airbag. But you hit your head on the side window during the second impact with the pole."

Cuddy watched him snap his fingers at the attending who stood at the foot of the bed. "Penlight."

The doctor gave it to him and House checked Cuddy's pupillary reaction before giving it back.

"Equal and reactive," House pronounced for the nurse to chart.

"How long was I out?" Cuddy asked.

"Five to ten minutes. Fifteen at most. You were in and out in the ambulance."

Cuddy didn't remember that.

"Concussion," she determined.

"Mild," House confirmed. "I want a CT to make sure there's no bleed lurking. I'm assuming you know where you are."

"Hopkins."

"Remember three _things_ for me … Sam, Bonnie, Julie."

Cuddy smiled._ Wilson's exes_.

"Dr. House, I'm just going to have to redo the exam in order to sign off on the chart."

House ignored the attending's attempt to deter his examination and asked for a stethoscope. The man gave it to him, reluctantly.

"It's okay," Cuddy told the doctor but House shushed her as he listened to her chest.

"Heart and lung sounds normal. Respiration equal bilaterally," he said as he moved the cold head of the instrument around on her chest.

Once he was satisfied, he handed the stethoscope back to the attending.

He then reached and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse.

"Seatbelt got you pretty good," he said, then gently palpated her shoulder and collarbone. She winced.

"X-ray of her right clavicle as well," he ordered then held up fingers up in front of her face. "How many?"

"Four."

"Good," he said then began a neurological exam, asking her to squeeze his fingers, checking her response on both sides. She complied, seeing in him a profound seriousness, and fascinated as she'd been several times over the years, to see the truly professional side of him.

"The three things?"

"You want them in chronological order by wedding or divorce, forward or backward?"

That got her a smile.

"Where's Rachel?" she asked.

"In the waiting room with Janice."

"You're all wet," Cuddy noted, just now seeing that his hair and clothes were soaked.

"I heard the crash, then the power went out."

"You were at the scene?"

"Yeah."

That worried Cuddy. Last time her life had been potentially on the line, he hadn't reacted well — he had withdrawn then turned to Vicodin in order to be with her. His relapse had ultimately led to their breakup. At the moment, though, she took heart in the fact that he was with her, intent on her care — much to the annoyance of the ER staff.

"Was Rachel there?"

The last thing Cuddy would ever want her child to see was her unconscious amidst the wreckage of a car.

"No. I walked down."

He walked three blocks. In the rain. With a prosthetic he was still learning to use. He couldn't possibly have known…

"How'd you know it was me?"

"It was time for you to be home," he said. "If it wasn't you, I'd have met you on the way and you would have given me a ride back."

Cuddy started to shake her head at him but the neck brace prevented the action. "You could have hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," he said then looked to the attending. "How about that x-ray and CT?"

Cuddy watched the doctor let out a heavy sigh. "I need to repeat the exam."

House glared at the man.

"You can do that _after_ the imaging."


	156. Chapter 156

**Part 156**

Cuddy smiled.

In the dim lighting of her hospital room, she saw House sitting in the chair beside her bed. His prosthetic was off and he was sound asleep with Rachel snuggled against his chest, her little cheek pressed to the graphic print on his shirt.

As a precaution, Cuddy was only going to be in the hospital overnight but it was worth not being in her own comfortable bed to see the scene before her eyes.

House was here, and Rachel was with him. Wilson would be proud of him. Cuddy knew she was.

Granted Cuddy's life wasn't at stake, as it could have been and as they'd feared, two years ago, but she could have been injured worse tonight, even killed. And House had been on the scene and found her unconscious and bleeding. That would be enough to scare most people witless. But he'd mastered his fear and taken care of her. That was change. That was the influence of his time with Wilson and confronting the death of someone he loved.

Watching House and Rachel sleep, Cuddy did a physical assessment. She was sore but she felt fine overall. The concussion was mild. She had no brain bleeds. Nothing was fractured. She was just bruised with some minor cuts and abrasions that would heal quickly.

And the vacation was still on.

House had protested initially when she'd said they were still going, but she'd reasoned with him that her injuries were minor and there were hospitals along the way. Oh, and she was traveling with a world-renowned diagnostician.

Rachel had been pleased with Cuddy's decision as well, which probably had as much to do with House's acquiescence as anything. He hated to disappoint her and, logically, he couldn't deny the truth of the medical information he possessed.

Cuddy was going to be fine and he _knew_ it.

Besides, Cuddy mused, convalescing at a beach house sounded way better than doing it in a hospital, or even at home.

"You should be asleep."

It was a low whisper and it made Cuddy smile.

"I thought you _were_ asleep?" she countered

Blue eyes opened and fixed on her. "Dozing really."

Rachel shifted in his arms, rubbing her cheek against his chest. He patted her on the back in response. She settled again.

"You're really good with her," Cuddy told him.

"I couldn't get her to go with Janice." He sounded a little frustrated that he hadn't succeeded.

"That's okay," she assured him. "It's been a scary night for her, for all of us. She just wants to be close."

He was quiet a moment then asked, "Did I do okay?"

Cuddy cringed inwardly at hearing the insecurity behind the question, discerning his need for her approval and validation. God, she'd really screwed up by pushing him away in the way she had. He was so afraid of failing, of not doing the right thing, and now he needed reassurance.

"Yes," she told him without an ounce of hesitancy. "You're doing great."

Her words seemed to make him feel better. He nodded then reached down for the lever on the side of the chair. He grasped it and moved it slowly to prevent jostling Rachel too much and waking her as he reclined it back to a more comfortable position.

Once he was settled, he wrapped both his arms around Rachel and spoke softly across the space between them.

"Get some sleep, Cuddy. We'll be leaving early in the morning."

"Okay," she whispered and watched him close his eyes.


	157. Chapter 157

**Part 157**

The night was warm and humid but the constant breeze off the ocean tempered both, making things just right for Cuddy. It was a nice break from the cold and rain of Baltimore's lingering dregs of winter.

Stepping out onto the deck, Cuddy handed House a cold beer before making herself comfortable on the opposite end of the teak sofa. She put her feet in his lap after positioning one of the pillows between her back and the arm of the furniture.

He didn't say a word, just rested his hand on one of her ankles.

After putting Rachel down for the night, Cuddy had told him about the paperwork regarding guardianship and medical proxy for herself and Rachel. As she'd predicted, he'd been surprised and speechless, and he hadn't said anything since.

Knowing he needed time to process, Cuddy had decided to get them a couple of beers and lingered in the kitchen longer than necessary. Patience with House paid off, something she wished she'd truly recognized and exercised more in the past.

While she waited for him, Cuddy propped an elbow on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. The sound of the wind and steady thrumming of waves were peaceful and exactly why she'd chosen the beach for their getaway.

Cuddy smiled remembering Rachel's declaration when they arrived that she was going to make a sandcastle in the morning.

"What's the smile for?"

Opening her eyes, Cuddy looked at House. He was gazing at her as if he already knew the answer. He probably did. She said she got a certain look when she thought about her daughter.

"Rachel's determination to build a sandcastle," she said softly. "I don't have anything for her to play with. I'll have to run into town."

"There should be some place that sells that stuff," he commented then looked back out into toward the moonlight surf, before asking, "Bring a bikini?"

It was a predictable question from House, but the timing of it took her by surprise and it made her laugh.

"Yes, just for you," she told him and watched a smile turn up a corner of his mouth. He looked down as he caressed her ankle and foot.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Sore," she answered truthfully. "But okay."

He was quiet for a few minutes as he circled his thumb around her ankle bone gently. It was a thoughtful, loving touch.

"Are you sure?"

His gaze lifted to hers right after he uttered the words.

Cuddy nodded. "She loves you and I trust you."

He looked back down to her ankle and where his thumb continued to caress her, now sliding along the side from arch to her big toe.

"I'm afraid I'd screw it up, Cuddy."

His voice was so, so quiet Cuddy could barely hear what he said. But she did, and she understood.

"It's the nature of parenthood that you're going to make mistakes," she told him, eyes tracking along his profile. "I make them all the time," she confessed. "It's going to happen. The question is how do you deal with it when you do."

Another lengthy silence passed before he spoke again. A frown accompanied his words.

"I don't like thinking about… something happening…" his voice trailed off.

"I know," Cuddy finished. She suspected that would be the one thing that he would struggle with most. It was his most vulnerable point in their relationship — something happening to her. Something had happened yesterday. Something could have happened a couple years ago. Anything could happen at any time, which is why the papers needed to be signed and filed with the courts as soon as possible.

"I don't like to think about it either, but I do have to plan for it so that she'll be taken care of."

He nodded but asked, "And you think I'm the man to do that?"

"You are the _only_ man I trust to do it," Cuddy declared softly.

"But your mother… your sister…"

"No," Cuddy shook her head. "She loves them but trust me, House, she wouldn't want to be with anyone else but you. She would need you … and you would need her."

A heartbeat, then quietly, "I know."

Hearing him acknowledge his need for Rachel caused tears to gather in Cuddy's eyes.

"Stacy will be sending the papers here by courier this week. After Julia … and yesterday, I want them signed as soon as possible."

House looked at her.

"I don't want _anyone_ to have the power to separate you," she told him plainly. "So if you're willing…"

"I love her."

The three words, said so swiftly and definitively took Cuddy's breath away and stopped her dead in her verbal tracks. He had never said it quite like that.

The sight of his blue eyes glistening loosed her tears.

"I know you do," she whispered. "And I love you."


	158. Chapter 158

**Part 158**

Gauzy drapes danced on the breeze and white sheets glowed in a pale room painted blue by the moonlight.

That was the place Cuddy found herself with House after their talk on the deck.

Lovemaking was on their minds, amid soft kisses and caresses. Medically, it wasn't advisable with her concussion. They should wait at least another day to be safe but she'd had no headaches or dizziness while the need to feel one another was overpowering.

Cuddy wanted his hands on her, their bodies joined. She wanted to kiss him until her lips were as bruised as her shoulder. She wanted to taste him and come undone with him.

"Gentle," she whispered as she grazed her lips along his cheek. It was the only outlet she allowed the doctor in her.

He just nodded, murmured a soft "yes" against her jaw.

And he was gentle, so gentle. Touching her like he had that day in his apartment, after the crane collapse. His kisses were just as tender as he moved over her, pillows placed just right for them to enjoy each other without taxing either of them too much physically.

It was slow and loving, soft gasps barely audible above the breeze as it hummed through the window screens.

He murmured tender words against her mouth and throat, against her ear and breasts. He told her she was beautiful and that she felt good and that he loved her.

The latter he declared when he came in her. She held to him as he shuddered and echoed the sentiment against the curve of his ear when she followed him into bliss.

Afterward, they lay side-by-side, sprawled across the bed as the sea breeze cooled their bodies.

"That was probably foolish," House said.

Cuddy looked over to see him smiling and his tone had been anything but chiding.

"But it was … _really good_," she countered.

His hand found hers on the bed between them.

"I'll never have enough of you," he said softly, head turning on the pillow, eyes catching hers.

"The feeling is _entirely_ mutual," she assured him and watched his smile become a grin.

They just looked at each other for several moments and Cuddy felt her heart race a little at the love in his expression.

"We should stay up a while."

The doctor in him was talking, wanting to make sure that their _activities_ hadn't caused an issue. She agreed.

"Want some water?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Leaning over, Cuddy kissed him then slipped out of the bed. She found his t-shirt and put it on before padding to the kitchen.

When she came back with a couple bottles of spring water, she found him sitting on the side of the bed, taking off the compression sock and bandages. Intimacy produced sweat aside, the heat and humidity of the environment was going to require those to be changed several times a day.

After setting the bottles on the nightstand beside him, Cuddy fetched the small duffle that contained his supply of fresh bandages and socks. As she did, she made a mental note to pick up their brand of detergent when they went to town in the morning. It was hypoallergenic. Last thing he needed was something different that would cause a rash.

Setting the bag next to him on the bed, she offered to help him cleanup and rewrap but he shook his head.

"I'm gonna leave them off a while, let the skin breathe," he said then picked up the waters. He handed one to her then uncapped the other.

Cuddy watched him down it in deep, leisurely draughts and smiled.

"Somebody was thirsty," she teased.

He nodded, causing a few droplets to escape and drop to his chest. They glinted in the moonlight. There was something sexy in that. It stirred her.

Cuddy stepped closer to him, nudged his leg with hers. He shifted it and looked up at her not in question, but with understanding.

He set the bottle aside and took hers, still unopened. He put it with his then reached for the hem of the t-shirt and drew it up. She helped him take it off her then sighed when he smoothed his hands from her hips, upward to caress her breasts.

She tangled her fingers in his short hair when he nuzzled her belly then kissed his way up to her breasts. He suckled her a few moments, left then right before she drew him away and gently pressed on his shoulders, urging him to lay back.

He did and she leaned over him.

His fingers threaded carefully into her hair, mindful of her injuries even as she kissed his belly then skimmed her breath over his warm skin, up to consume the cool droplets that had fallen from the water bottle.

He tasted salty. His salt and the salt of the sea.

He trembled under her and whispered her name when she covered one of his flat nipples with her mouth and kissed it with lips and tongue.

Her hands drifted from his shoulders down either side of his chest to settle on his flanks. Her mouth followed to find his reviving erection at the apex of his body.

"Damn," he groaned when she swallowed him up.

She peered up at him and saw his neck arched, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She hummed at the sight of his pleasure and felt his body quake once more.

She took her time to delight him, just because she wanted to and could, and he let her direct his pleasure, gave her control and let her take him to where she knew he wanted to be.

It was with joy that she accepted his surrender, a joy she'd never known with another man, then crawled up over him on the bed and kissed him.

Taking his face into her hands, she caressed him with her fingers, stroking his brow and cupping his ears, smoothing over his stubble-covered cheeks.

Eventually, she sat and looked down at him, watched his eyes slowly open to take her in.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Cuddy smiled and laid her hand over his heart.

"You're _very_ welcome."


	159. Chapter 159

**Part 159**

The morning began with an excited five-year-old bouncing up and down on the foot of the bed that Cuddy and House occupied.

"Sandcastle! Sandcastle!" was the cheer that made them both groan then smile, and ultimately get up.

After a light breakfast, Cuddy called for a cab to take them into town where they found a set of sandcastle-making forms for Rachel, some waterproof sunscreen, and a few other necessities for a week of beach life. And the detergent.

On the way back, not far from the house they'd rented, Cuddy spotted something that gave her an idea. She asked the cab to stop and pointed it out to House.

"That would help you get to the beach," she said and watched him smile.

That grin was all Cuddy'd needed to see to make the decision to pay the fare, unload their wares from the cab and into one of the beach-ready, rental golf carts.

It had worked out great, letting House join them on the beach where he now sat on a blanket next to Rachel, helping fill the sand forms.

Cuddy watched them over the top of Wilson's journal and felt a lightness in her heart that she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before.

House was holding one of the filled forms while Rachel used the pail and shovel to put water in with the sand. Once she deemed it enough she set those aside then took the form and meticulously turned it over next to the others she'd already made.

In actuality, the castle wasn't so much a castle as a row of different shapes, but Rachel was having fun and House was suitably amused.

Cuddy couldn't see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but the smirk on his mouth spoke of mirth — and happiness.

He was wearing shorts and had a towel thrown across his stump to prevent sunburn on the still-healing skin. But his torso was bare and a sheen of sweat covered his muscled back. In the broad light of day, she could see the improved definition in his physique, courtesy of the physical therapy he'd been undertaking nearly daily since the amputation. He looked good and God knew, he felt good.

Memories of the night before had been prominent in Cuddy's mind several times throughout the day, most notably during the mutual rubdown with sunscreen. And she thought of them now and how it had felt to touch the improved tone of his back and arms — and his ass. The man was a feast for the tactile senses, and others.

Sneaking her smartphone out of her beach bag, Cuddy took photos of House and Rachel playing, knowing at least one of them would end up framed and on her desk at work, even the mantle at home.

House surprised Cuddy when he caught her taking snapshots and said, "You should be in those."

Then he further surprised her by flagging down some passing beachcombers and asking them to take a picture of all of them together.

Handing her phone off to a willing shutterbug, Cuddy moved to sit with House and called Rachel over. Not a shy one, Rachel jumped at the opportunity to have her picture made. She close to House and put her arms around his neck before cheesing it up for the camera.

Phone back in hand, Cuddy immediately looked at the picture and felt the sting of tears. She promptly thanked the young woman who'd snapped the shot and heard the emotion in her own voice. It was impossible to control what she felt at seeing the photo.

It was … the first of them as a family.

It's what she'd wanted for years. Something of her own, outside of her successful career. Personal happiness and a shared life with someone she loved and who loved her, and a child to round it all out.

And she had it. All of it. And it was captured in pixels right there on her phone. It was the most beautiful image she'd ever seen.

"Let's see."

Cuddy put the phone in House's hand and Rachel leaned her head over his shoulder again, announcing she wanted to see, too.

They both looked and Cuddy watched their reactions.

Rachel's was one of the happiness of a child, a snaggletoothed smile and a pronouncement: "I like it."

House's reaction was somewhat different. He didn't say anything but she felt a tremor run through his body and watched him bow his head while emotion radiated off him. The profundity of the image wasn't lost on him.

If Cuddy'd had any doubts about how he felt about it, they would have been cleared up when, later that evening, she found him sitting on the deck with her phone, looking again at the picture.

"Want me to send it to your phone?" she asked as she settled next to him like she had the night before.

He nodded and took the water bottle she offered. He looked at the photo just a few moments more before turning the device off.

"She had fun today," he observed then smiled over at Cuddy, "But I don't think architecture's in her future."

"She's five and has plenty of time to figure it out," Cuddy said with an indulgent smile. "You looked like you've had some experience."

"Marine bases were usually near some sort of beach," he said.

Cuddy glanced out at the darkening sky. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the house and stars were starting to appear near the horizon.

"It's beautiful here," she said, looking back to him.

House smirked at her.

"Not nearly as beautiful as your ass in that bikini," he said with a tip of his bottle toward her in salute. "Patty and Selma were looking particularly fine, too, I might add."

Cuddy smiled. "You did add."

"Do you honestly think I'd _subtract_ from those _ass_ets?" he countered.

"You? Never."

"Damn straight, _honey-buns_."

Cuddy laughed then looked past House when she saw the back door opening and her daughter emerging.

The sunlight had zapped Rachel's energy for the day. She'd made it through her bath but had fallen asleep during supper. Cuddy had put her down on the couch inside but now her daughter was on the deck, rubbing her eyes as she trudged over to Cuddy and House.

"Hey, sweetie," Cuddy said, passing her water off to House as she picked up Rachel and let her snuggle close. Cuddy stroked her hair for a few minutes then asked her if she wanted something to eat. It was early enough in the evening still for a light snack before bedtime.

Rachel nodded in reply.

"Okay, let's go get you something," Cuddy said and managed to get to her feet. It wouldn't be long before carrying her daughter would no longer be an option. She was growing like a weed.

Cuddy gave House a smile as she passed him then looked back over her shoulder as she opened the door and started to step inside. What she saw, touched her heart.

He was looking at the picture on her phone again.


	160. Chapter 160

**Part 160**

Cuddy woke to find House's side of the bed empty.

She'd felt the mattress shift with his weight when he'd exited the bed earlier. Thinking he'd meant to go to the bathroom and come back, she'd just dozed back off. But awake now, she felt that the sheets were cold where he'd been laying, telling her he'd been gone for a while.

Rising, Cuddy went in search of him, her nightshirt and shorts comfortable attire in the warm, night air that filtered through the windows.

She found him on the couch in the living area. He had a tumbler of scotch in hand, which looked to be untouched, and his phone. He was looking at the picture again.

Cuddy smiled. He seemed utterly mesmerized by the image. She knew it had affected him profoundly, and was still doing so. She wondered at it, but knew that true happiness had been in short supply in his life.

Approaching him, Cuddy whispered a soft "hey" then kissed the top of his head before sinking down in the chair opposite the couch where he sat.

He didn't try to hide what he was doing when she put her feet up on the edge of the coffee table, curling her toes against the cool glass top.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

Cuddy shook her head. "Missed you next to me," she said, covering a yawn.

He smiled a little then looked back at the picture. There was a time he wouldn't have allowed himself an obviously sentimental display in front of anyone. It pleased her that he was comfortable enough now to do so and thrilled her that he was opening up more to her every day.

"I never fit in growing up."

Cuddy wasn't surprised at the revelation. Being a military brat meant he'd moved around a lot. His intelligence had probably been well beyond that of his peers, even as a child. In college he'd stood out against the crowd, but his "party animal" social life had been superficial at best. After the infarction, his social graces had been practically non-existent. He had tolerated people at best, and they might not have tolerated him at all.

Truthfully, Cuddy and Wilson had been the only consistent friends he'd had over the years and yet he'd never been entirely comfortable with them either. Not like he was now, with Cuddy and Rachel.

"You fit with us," she told him and watched him nod as he continued studying the picture.

"You both look happy," he noted.

Cuddy smiled. "So do you."

"I am," he said, his voice so soft.

It made Cuddy beyond happy to hear him say that. She'd known, of course.

A happy House was hard to miss. In the past, who knew how it would have come out but in the last few months, it came in the form of silly conversations and banter, smiles, and a light in his eyes. Sometimes he seemed to be aware of it, other times she'd wondered if he realized what he was projecting.

At the moment, she felt his happiness in the form of peace and wonder.

Rising, Cuddy moved over to sit beside him. She smiled when he tilted the screen so she could see the picture, too.

"I've wanted _this_ kind of happiness for a long time, House," Cuddy said softly then propped her chin on his shoulder. He met her gaze. "It would be incomplete without you."

Blue eyes peered into hers and emotion strained his words when he spoke.

"Cuddy, it would be impossible for me without you and the kid."

Her heart fluttering, Cuddy touched his cheek gently.

"Then I'm even more glad you're with us," she said softly, "Because we love you and we want you to be happy."

"Thank you," House whispered in the space between them. There was so much more than gratitude in those two words, love saturated the syllables and matched what she saw in his eyes.

Cuddy leaned toward him and he moved to meet her, tilting his head to accept the soft kiss she intended to give. When she drew back, he was smiling.

"We need to get a real camera."


	161. Chapter 161

**Part 161**

"House!"

Cuddy's exclamation came after hearing a shutter snap as she showered. Looking over her shoulder, she saw House using their brand new camera to take a picture of her ass. If she wasn't afraid of hurting him, she'd shove him out of the room, but with him precariously balanced on his crutch and one-handing the camera, she didn't dare. She settled for closing up the gap in the curtain where he'd decided to make his sneak attack.

"Should have gotten the wide angle," he said as soon as the curtain was shut.

"I bought that for family photos, you idiot," she scolded as the water continued to fall around her.

"We took some," he countered, his tone playfully defensive. "But those were snapshots. I'm branching out now, into art photography. I think your ass could rock The Louvre."

Cuddy smiled despite his chicanery. He had been in a really good mood all day.

"I need more practice, though," he continued. "The lighting in here sucks."

"You'd better be deleting that," she called out over the sound of the water. "There's a five-year-old around here who knows how to use that better than we do."

It was almost true. Rachel knew well enough how to turn it on and find the pictures. She'd been looking through them earlier after they'd come in to get ready for supper in town. That was enough to concern Cuddy.

"Don't worry, I promise not to frighten her with pictures of her mother's gluteus _maximus_," House replied.

"House, I'm serious," Cuddy said, meaning it.

So far they'd managed to dodge the dreaded coitus interruptus, courtesy of an oblivious child, and Cuddy wanted to keep it that way. In addition to avoiding Rachel being exposed to inappropriate images of Cuddy's ass and any other body part House had a notion to photograph.

Cuddy jumped when the shower curtain was pulled aside. She shot a glare at House only to find him standing there with a smile. He had the camera in hand, turned to show her the screen where it was flashing a message that said it couldn't save because there was no memory card.

"You are _such_ an ass," she told him, rolling her eyes.

"And you, my dear Cuddy, have a _great_ ass," he countered. "Now hurry up. Me and the bilge rat are starving."

With that, he yanked the curtain shut and left Cuddy to finish her shower. She did so, as quickly as possible, not wanting to risk the chances of him putting in a memory card in the camera.

His singular obsession with her anatomy, coupled with his innate propensity for pranks and sexual playfulness would become irresistible at some point. And that's when there'd be pictures, actual pictures. She was going to have to watch him like a hawk and at least make sure he kept them away from Rachel — and everyone else.

Once Cuddy was ready, they drove the little golf cart down the shoreline to a restaurant on the beach. Rachel helped House pick out a live lobster from the tank before they settled at a table on the patio, where they ordered the rest of their meal.

Rachel laughed when House played air guitar and lip-synced to Van Halen's Dance The Night Away when it began to play on the speakers throughout the restaurant.

At his direction, Rachel began to bob her head along with him to the beat of the music. He would shut his eyes and set his jaw in concentration whenever a verse played, pretending to focus intently on those particular notes then, when the chorus returned, he'd cut a look at Rachel and they'd start all over again.

It was silly and sweet and completely House. An unfettered, drug-free, practically painless, and truly happy Greg House.

Sneaking the camera out of her purse, Cuddy snapped a few shots of the antics at their table, which had begun attracting the attention of others. There were a few glares, but most people were amused to see a grown man being so playful in public with a child. The men with daughters were laughing and Cuddy knew it was because they, like Cuddy's father, had probably regularly humiliated themselves for their little girls.

Later, when they were back at the beach house and House was tucking Rachel in, Cuddy stole a look at all the pictures on the camera. There were more from the beach and they made her smile but she outright laughed when she saw the photos that the duo down the hall had apparently been taking while she was showering.

House had clearly been holding the camera at arm's length, taking "selfies" of the pair of them making goofy faces. Cuddy recognized a few of House's expressions. She'd used to give him a hard time about not acting his age, but she honestly couldn't do that any more. He wasn't being childish but child-like and there was a world of difference between the two.

Cycling through the images, Cuddy realized she was going to have to get some photo frames, and probably an album or two. There was just too much…

Cuddy paused when the next image came up, a quick, soft breath escaping past her lips at seeing herself.

The photo showed her from earlier in the evening, sitting on the side of the bed just as she was now. She was in profile and partially silhouetted. The waning light of day had cast a warm glow across her back and the bedding while the soft, low light from the lamp on the nightstand just barely highlighted the features of her face. She was tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and was just about to bend down and put on her sandals.

Cuddy remembered the moment exactly but hadn't heard the shutter go off.

"What do you think?"

Looking up from the little screen, Cuddy saw House standing in the doorway to their bedroom. He was gazing at her with a tender fondness that stole her breath away. He clearly knew _exactly_ what image she was looking at.

"You have a good eye" was all she could think to say.

It netted her a whisper of a smile and a shake of his head.

"I have a stunning subject."


	162. Chapter 162

**Part 162**

House fell.

It hadn't been a catastrophic fall. He hadn't landed directly on his stump, thankfully, having managed to twist his body to fall on his left side. But the impact had been jarring enough to trigger a bout of phantom pain.

At the moment, Cuddy was watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. She'd given him an injection of medication, which had eased the pain some, and now he was sleeping the rest off. She expected him to feel better by evening. He usually did after one of these rounds.

For Cuddy, it seemed at once familiar and strange to the see specter of pain in his visage. It had been his shroud for years but largely gone after the amputation, swapped for the gradually receding pain of healing.

It was the first time Rachel had seen him experience the phantom pain, or pain of that degree. It had startled her to see him fall, but not quite as badly as seeing the pain rush over him and hearing him gasp then groan at the assault on his hypersensitive nerves.

Cuddy had told Rachel to stay back from House while she went to get his medication. Understandably, he didn't like to be touched when he was hurting that badly and she'd been afraid that he might alarm Rachel further if she tried to make contact.

But Rachel hadn't listened.

When Cuddy'd returned, she'd found her daughter sitting next to House's head, one of her little hands stroking his sweat-beaded brow while tears fell down her cheeks. "Momma will fix it, House," Rachel had been saying, clearly trying to comfort him.

Once Cuddy had given him the injection and the pain had receded to more manageable proportions, he'd looked up at Rachel with an exhausted, "Thanks, kid."

That'd gotten him a big kiss on the forehead.

Cuddy had sat with them until House felt okay enough to move again. She'd helped him up then and to the bed where he now lay — with a napping Rachel. Cuddy had laid her beside him after talking to her about what she'd seen and then rocking her to sleep in the living room.

Seeing House stir, Cuddy moved around to his side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when his eyes alighted on her.

"Better," he said, his voice low and soft with exhaustion and sleep. Bouts of pain always wiped him out. "Where's the kid?" he asked.

Cuddy glanced over beside him. He followed her gaze, turning his head on the pillow to see Rachel.

"How bad did I scare her?"

"You didn't. The pain did," she corrected then assured him, "She's okay. She was startled more than anything."

"She cried," he said, frowning up at Cuddy.

"She's a very empathetic child," she told him, smiling. "She just wanted you to be okay and I told her you would be."

When he continued to frown and returned his attention to Rachel, Cuddy asked, "What is it?"

"I thought I might have hurt her."

Fear laced his words and tore at Cuddy's heart.

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't remember anything between falling and her touching me," he explained.

The pain had blinded him. Cuddy wasn't surprised, which is exactly why she'd told Rachel to stay back in the first place.

"No. You didn't hurt her, House," Cuddy said softly. "And even if she'd been hurt it would have been an accident."

The latter was probably unnecessary to say, but with House's history, he needed both reassurance and encouragement where Rachel was concerned. Cuddy had failed to give that to him before but was determined to make sure he had it now.

At her words, she watched House reach and lightly brush his fingers through Rachel's hair, moving the locks that had fallen to partially obscure her face.

The gesture was one of tenderness and affection, and it cemented Cuddy's faith in him to love and care for Rachel, and to protect her. He would never willfully hurt her.

"Have you told her how you feel?"

He shook his head against the pillow.

Feeling tears forming, Cuddy whispered, "When you do, she will love you even more."

"How?" he asked, eyes still on Rachel.

Cuddy only had one answer.

"Because that's how the love of a child works."


	163. Chapter 163

**Part 163**

Cuddy came in from the beach with Rachel to see House sitting on the couch reading.

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. When they did she saw that he held not a newspaper, but the guardianship and medical proxy paperwork from Stacy.

"I think she covered all the bases and then some," House said as he took his glasses off. "_Major_ overachiever."

After directing Rachel to the bathroom to wash her hands before lunch, Cuddy smiled at House.

"Neither of us should cast stones on that front."

"I don't know," House said, "I've been known to drastically underachieve, even _unachieve_."

"I don't think _unachieve_ is a word," Cuddy laughed.

"Pretty sure it can be done, though."

Cuddy didn't disagree. Moving over to him, she asked, "Did you read it all?"

"Yeah, and it surprisingly low on legalese."

House handed her a sticky note that was on the mailer laying in his lap.

Cuddy read it: _Lisa, It's ironclad. I closed any and all loopholes. Be sure and have it witnessed and notarized before sending it back. - Stacy_

"Nearest notary is at a little shop up the street."

Cuddy looked from the note to House.

"You already looked it up?"

Grinning, he handed her the papers and took off his glasses.

"Oops, overachieved again."

"Witnesses?" Cuddy asked.

"Sounded harder so I saved that for you."

Cuddy smiled. He was teasing and she loved it.

"Thanks," she said with the appropriate amount of amused sarcasm, and he applied the same amount of cheekiness to his "You're welcome."

After lunch, Cuddy ended up ringing Stacy who said she'd make a few calls and find a local attorney who could witness and notarize the signing. She apologized for not doing that beforehand.

"Oh, Stacy," Cuddy consoled her. "It's not like I gave you a lot of warning to get this together."

_"This sort of paperwork should never be delayed, Lisa. It's too important."_

The accident just a few days ago had driven that home to Cuddy. The thought of what would have happened to Rachel and House if the outcome had been dire was enough to send shivers down her spine.

Cuddy told Stacy about the accident, assuring her she was relatively unscathed but that she felt an even stronger sense of urgency to sign the papers. Stacy had agreed and advised her she was going to end the call and quickly find a Charleston attorney to help. She was also advising Cuddy to have the attorney hold onto a copy at their office, at least until the originals were back in Stacy's hands in Short Hills.

_"Keep a copy with you, too,"_ Stacy advised.

"Thank you, Stacy," Cuddy said. "I appreciate you rushing this. I just want to make sure House and Rachel—"

_"I know," _Stacy cut her off. Then there was a sort of soft laugh. _"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Greg House would take on the responsibility for a child."_

Cuddy could say the same thing but she didn't. Instead, she let Stacy close out the call with a promise to ring back shortly with the name and location of a nearby attorney.

Making her way back outside, phone tucked into the pocket of her shorts, Cuddy saw House and Rachel on the deck. They were both wearing sunglasses and bobbing their heads to the music playing on the small radio House had found inside.

Cuddy wondered, watching them, if House's love of music would infect Rachel. So far, it seemed to be doing so.

Smiling, Cuddy dropped down into the chair across from the duo on the couch.

House immediately stopped what he was doing, pulled his sunglasses down enough to peer over the top of them.

"Where's the bikini?"

"I'm waiting for a callback from Stacy. She's getting a name of an attorney so I can get the papers finalized today," Cuddy replied.

"I'm sure the lawyer wouldn't mind if you wore the bikini to the office," he suggested, typically.

Cuddy rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe not, but I have to be taken seriously when I get in there."

"I'd take you in a bikini, seriously," House said, his expression lascivious then one of mock confusion. "No, wait, I'd take you seriously in a bikini, though the other is true, too. And I'd question the sanity of anyone who didn't take you seriously in a bikini, or want to take you in a bikini, seriously."

Cuddy just shook her head at him.

She was fairly certain that House's talent for sexual innuendo and doublespeak was the eighth Wonder of the World.


	164. Chapter 164

**Part 164**

As evening fell on Charleston, Cuddy, House and Rachel dined on the deck of the beach house.

Rachel was still chattering away about the late-afternoon dolphin tour they'd taken after squaring away the guardianship and medical proxy papers. With those documents now signed, filed, copied, and on their way back to Stacy Warner, Cuddy felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Cuddy hadn't even realized she'd been carrying one but the lightness of being she felt while Rachel recounted their activities of just hours earlier was clear evidence that she had.

"I wish I could have one," Rachel said on a wistful sigh — after talking non-stop for about five minutes during which Cuddy wasn't sure the child had even breathed.

"Just one?" House asked playfully.

"Well," Rachel said, making a gesture with her hand as she looked at him. "If I had two, they could be friends."

Cuddy stifled a laugh. She'd had more than one such conversation with Rachel — where the _needs_ of the thing she wanted were paramount, while what she would gain out of it would be merely incidental or not as important. The sales pitch rarely worked, and it definitely wasn't going to work on the dolphin front.

Thankfully, neither House or Rachel furthered that part of the conversation. Instead, Rachel switched gears and asked House if he would come to her school for show and tell.

"You could show them your pirate leg."

Cuddy was too thankful, too soon. She looked immediately to House to gauge his reaction. In the past, a mention of his leg would have netted a biting remark, at best. Right now, though, he was just looking at Rachel as if she'd sprouted two heads. He clearly hadn't expected that.

"Rachel, honey," Cuddy cut in, not sure what House was going to say or if he would speak at all. "You've already decided to take your turtle and dolphin that House bought you."

"I know," Rachel sighed yet again, her expression becoming sad, "but Dylan said I didn't have a daddy."

_Oh my God._

Her heart aching, Cuddy looked at House again. His expression had changed, too. He wasn't shocked any more but clearly overwhelmed.

"Sweetheart—" Cuddy began, hoping to save him from answering but he cut her off.

"I'll go with you, kid."

Not wanting him to feel pressured to talk about something uncomfortable just to appease Rachel, which was something he tended to do, Cuddy said his name softly.

He ignored her, though, and kept his eyes on Rachel.

"What if I bring my guitar and play a song?"

Cuddy watched Rachel's expression brighten. "What song?"

Seeing the look in his eyes, Cuddy instantly knew what he was going to say next and her heart shot into her throat.

"One I wrote for you when you were just a baby."

"For me?" Rachel asked, wonder unmistakable in her little voice.

He just held her gaze. "For you and your mother, the night you were named."

Cuddy didn't even try to stop her tears as she watched House meet Rachel's emotional needs — needs that only he could truly address. It was a powerful thing to witness the connection between a child in pain to a man who'd known pain as a child. House was putting himself in her life, from the start of it, dressing the wounds of a cruel childhood taunt by making her feel special.

Rachel may not have had a daddy in any traditional sense, but House was being one to her now, whether he knew it or not.


	165. Chapter 165

**Part 165**

House had just set his empty mug in the sink and turned when Cuddy approached him. He watched her, blue eyes gentle and assessing as she looked at him.

She didn't know what to say to him about earlier, about what he'd volunteered to do for Rachel. All she could do was feel … love and gratitude and love.

Cuddy reached for him, her hand caressing his cheek tenderly before cupping the back of his neck and drawing him down into a kiss. She poured what she was feeling into the caress of her lips to his, fingers threading up into his hair when his left arm went around her and cradled her to him.

When she finally released his mouth, she looked up at him and fell headlong into his gaze. She still had no words, something he seemed to understand.

"Let's go to bed."

Cuddy nodded and together they made their way back to the bedroom, pausing outside Rachel's room just long enough to make sure she was still asleep.

Once the door was shut behind them, clothing was slowly shed and they met in the middle of the mattress, bodies aligning intimately. They kissed and caressed until House rolled onto his back and brought her astride him.

Cuddy took him into her with a breathy declaration of love, finally finding words as he filled her.

Bowing, she pressed her brow to his and whispered his name. It became a mantra as she began moving her hips in time with his, riding the wave of emotion that had begun at dinner until they both cried out softly.

In the aftermath, Cuddy kissed him. She held his face in her hands, her thumbs caressing his stubble-covered cheeks as she captured and recaptured his mouth with hers. She lingered on the last one then gazed down at him.

Tenderness graced the lines of his face, softening them. Neither of them said a word, just kissed a few more times before rising and cleaning up.

"I volunteered to be her father."

It was half-question, half-statement, said softly after they'd returned to the bed. He was spooned behind her, his arm around her.

Cuddy covered his hand with hers.

"I know," she said softly. "And I know it scares you."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Cuddy, and she needs—"

"She needs exactly what you're giving her," Cuddy cut him off with a whisper, not wanting him to descend into self-doubt. "You did something beautiful for her … you gave her something that I can't."

Turning her head toward him, Cuddy told him, "And you know more than you think you do."

"I just…" his voice trailed off.

"Didn't want her to hurt," Cuddy finished for him then laced her fingers with his. "House, that is exactly what a father should do."

"Mine didn't," he said solemnly.

"You're not your father," she stated without equivocation. Because he wasn't. He might not know what to do, but he would never to treat Rachel the way he'd been treated. Of that, Cuddy was certain.

"He wasn't my father."

Cuddy frowned. _"What?"_

"My mother slept around a lot," he said, almost amused then explained that he'd figured it out, at the age of twelve, by observing visible genetic traits that he could not be John House's biological son. "Not even she knows who he is," he continued. "So I really am a bastard."

Cuddy knew he meant it as a joke, but she didn't think it was funny. It made her wonder if the abuse he'd endured had been the result of his father knowing that — or if it had made it worse.

"God, House," she breathed.

He sighed, amusement falling to the wayside. "I may not share his genes, Cuddy, but I don't know how much of him _got in_."

Cuddy could understand that. She knew that her own drive for perfection was the result of her mother's whip-cracking. But in addition to being an impetus to her professional success, it also caused her to unfairly apply the same unrealistic expectations on others. He'd been a victim of that, their relationship a casualty.

"I worry about that with myself," she confessed, adding, "You've met my mother."

"You would never dismiss the kid or purposefully insult her, Cuddy."

"But it doesn't change the fact that I worry that I might do it without realizing it, or that I might set unreasonable expectations on her, or pressure her down paths she doesn't want to go," Cuddy said. "There's a lot of self-review involved to make sure I'm not doing those things."

House pressed is cheek to hers. She loved the burn of his beard against her skin.

"I've already let John House's legacy corrupt me, Cuddy," he murmured.

Easing House's arm from around her, Cuddy turned over and faced him.

"You're not corrupt, House," Cuddy told him, looking him in the eye. "You've been hurt by someone who shouldn't have hurt you, regardless of biology."

"Cuddy—"

Knowing what he was going to say, how he was going to recount his failures and list off his flaws, Cuddy cut him off.

"Yes, you've expressed that hurt in ways that hurt others, but I don't believe it has ever been out of malevolence," she said with absolute conviction. "And you need to let yourself acknowledge that."

Cuddy saw the counterargument rising, but she touched her fingers to his lips to silence him. She knew he was about to bring up what he'd done to her but she was done with that.

"Stop, House, and listen to me," she said softly. "I have forgiven you. _I love you._ And I love that you love Rachel and want be a part of her life. That's what's important to her and me," she continued. "The past is what it is. We can't change it, but we can learn from it and do our best to get it right. But when we do get it wrong, and we will, we apologize and learn ways to do even better. It's all anyone can do."

Moving her fingers, Cuddy caressed his cheek with the love she felt for him and smiled gently.

"Now, if you want, we can take parenting classes and get some mind-numbing, socially appropriate advice. Or we can trust ourselves to love Rachel the way she needs to be loved and keep her best interests at heart. Up to you."

"How long do you think I'd make it in the classroom?" he asked, a smile emerging.

Cuddy grinned.

"Five minutes. Tops."


	166. Chapter 166

**Part 166**

The morning breeze stirred Cuddy's hair as she walked with Rachel along the beach, collecting seashells.

It was early yet, only a handful of beachcombers were up and about, giving mother and daughter a chance to find some prime specimens. So far, Rachel had a handful in her little pail.

Cuddy wished that House could be with them, but his inability to traverse the sand and the fact the cart would only ruin shells for others, prompted her to let him sleep in. Before going out, she'd woke him just long enough to let him know where they would be. A sleepy "okay" had been his response.

Rachel had a been a bit disappointed, but Cuddy had consoled her that they would all do something together later — which Rachel had apparently taken to mean breakfast.

"Housecakes?" she'd asked.

Pancakes. Rachel had taken a shine to them since the first time he made them. Of course, the fact he'd made a smiley face with bacon and banana slices had something to do with it. Oh, and he'd named them after himself. Since then, if she asked, he made them and decorated them in some fashion to amuse her — and himself.

Personally, Cuddy didn't care for pancakes, too many carbs, but she confessed his were good. He always made sure hers were small and served fruit on the side to counter the indulgence. Once, when she'd been particularly crabby, he'd put chocolate chips in the cakes and given her a bowl of strawberries.

To address Rachel's request, Cuddy had left a note on the bar, next to a bowl and whisk: _A special request from the bilge rat._

Cuddy smiled as she thought about him waking up and finding it. She knew he would smile that little smile that actually communicated untold delight.

_There would be pancakes_, Cuddy mused.

"Momma?"

Rachel's voice drew Cuddy from her thoughts. "Yes, sweetie," she said, looking down at her daughter, who was looking up at her with a question in her eyes.

"What do daddies do?"

Seems Cuddy wasn't the only one with House on the mind. It was an interesting question that posed another one.

"What do you think they do?" Cuddy asked.

"Dylan's daddy makes a lot of money."

Cuddy frowned at the mention of the boy again. She was starting to not like this kid and had a feeling nothing revealed from here forward would improve that opinion.

"What else does Dylan's daddy do?"

Cuddy was probing to find out what else Rachel linked to the role of a father. To her dismay, Rachel just shrugged and looked down at the shell he had in her hand. She worried it with her little fingers.

"Does he take him places and do things with him?"

Rachel shrugged yet again.

"Do your other friends do things with their daddies?"

"Angela's daddy let her have a dog."

Cuddy would ask Rachel about Julia's husband but she already knew that David was a workaholic. He wasn't a dismissive dad, but he was busy more often than not, so it was unlikely Rachel had witnessed much fatherly interaction. Not to mention that tensions with Julia had limited their contact in the last couple of years.

Seeing Rachel still looking at the shell, perplexed by the conversation, Cuddy decided it was time to introduce her to a more relevant expectation of a father than income and pets.

"My daddy used to take me to the park on Saturdays."

Cuddy loved her father very much. He had been a caring and gentle man, and he had inspired Cuddy to follow his footsteps into medicine. He had died entirely too young but she had fond memories of him. She shared some of them with Rachel, watching her daughter's melancholy vanish more with each revelation.

"He taught me to fly a kite and how to ride a bicycle," Cuddy said, smiling at the memories that rose to the surface. "He would sometimes read me stories at bedtime and he always held my hand when we crossed the street."

"House reads me stories."

"Yes."

Seemingly encouraged, by Cuddy's answer, Rachel started listing off other things that she did with House.

"He plays games with me and he's silly."

Rachel's smile turned impish when she said the latter.

"He can be very silly," Cuddy agreed. It was a quality she had not really appreciated until she'd seen how it opened him up to her daughter.

"I like when he makes funny faces and voices," Rachel confessed in the way only a child could, as if revealing a very important secret.

"I know you do," Cuddy said with a smile and watched her daughter's smile fade and a questioning frown emerge.

"Do daddies give hugs?"

Cuddy's heart broke a little hearing that question, the hope caged in fear. She wished she could answer positively, making it a virtue of all fathers, but the truth was, some people just weren't comfortable with being physically affectionate. House was one of those people, under most circumstances, even though he was fully capable of it.

In addition to sexual intimacy, House liked kissing and holding hands, and he wasn't shy about doing it in public with Cuddy. But with other people, he was just uncomfortable, which usually meant he didn't want contact with that person. But there were times when he recognized situations where it might be warranted — when he even might want it — but wasn't sure how to initiate it.

Cuddy noted that it had always been the latter where Rachel was concerned. He was still unsure of himself with her when it came to that. He accepted her physical displays of affection but there was always an underlying awkwardness — unless she was sleeping. When she was unaware, he allowed himself that, and Cuddy expected that it would expand in time, as he grew more comfortable with his love for Rachel and in accepting her love.

But Cuddy had to answer her daughter's question honestly. "Some do," she said.

"Will House hug me?"

That was a question only House could answer and it frustrated Cuddy to know she couldn't just say "yes." It's what Rachel needed to hear.

Heart aching, Cuddy asked her daughter, "Do you want him to?"

When Rachel nodded her head vigorously, Cuddy said the only thing she could.

"Then maybe you should tell him you need one."


End file.
